


fate, up against your will

by ericdire (aarobron)



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Smut, Some graphic descriptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:36:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 65,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22526422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aarobron/pseuds/ericdire
Summary: “Don’t freak out,” Virgil says slowly, not breaking eye contact with Jordan. There’s a heavy pause, but just when Jordan is about to tell him to get on with it, he finally speaks again. “I’m– I’m a vampire, Jordan.”“Good one,” Jordan says with a laugh, but it’s humourless. Empty. Numb. “What’s really going on?”“I am a vampire, Jordan,” Virgil repeats. He sounds tired, rubbing the back of his hand across his nose, and he stares down at the floor. His shoulders are hunched like he’s trying to make himself as small as possible. Like he’s trying to shrink down until he doesn’t exist at all. Jordan’s heart would break if it didn’t feel like it was made of stone.
Relationships: Virgil van Dijk/Jordan Henderson
Comments: 18
Kudos: 43





	fate, up against your will

**Author's Note:**

> well, here she is! 
> 
> as some of you know, i've been writing this for a very long time. almost seven months, in fact, but it's finally finished, and i don't think i could possibly be prouder. this is my child, the product of my overactive imagination, and what happened when i thought for five minutes about hot virgil would be if he was a vampire. 
> 
> i sincerely hope you all enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing this. i'm going to miss it, but there's no point in hanging onto it for sentimentality's sake.
> 
> i have to say thank you to [jordanshenderson](https://jordanshenderson.tumblr.com/). this fic has been a massive part of our friendship so far, but now i can't wait to progress with other fics with you. you've been my rock while i've been writing this, encouraging me and reassuring me, correcting my mistakes, and just generally being there, night and day, when i'm having a meltdown about my writing. i love you a lot.
> 
> this fic has an accompanying playlist, because of course it does. every song is in order with the story, so please try to refrain from hitting the shuffle button if you want it to make sense. you can find that playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4CacWIMO3inbNvc7NMWeZr?si=5RQbF246RTqy7cqTZMYt2g).
> 
> and last but not least, thank you so, so much for reading. your support means the world to me, and feedback is always appreciated. enjoy yourselves xxx

The club is dark and loud. The strobe lights are too bright, making Jordan's head hurt, but the alcohol is doing a decent job of numbing the pain, and really, he can ignore it if he just focuses on why he let himself be dragged here.

It's coming up to six months since Adam left him – a mutual decision, really, even if the ache in his chest doesn't prove that – and he's still not over him. He still wakes up in the middle of night expecting Adam's warm body next to him, an arm over his waist and soft snoring in his ear. Every time, it shocks him back to reality, loneliness carving a space in every inch of his body. It's fine. He's accepted it now, he really has. 

But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. 

He's only here because Milly got sick of his whining (which was _not_ him being a drama queen, thank you very much) and decided to conspire with Robbo. Robbo's advice, of course, was that in order to get over Adam, Jordan needed to get under somebody else.

Crude, James had said with a smirk. Crude but not wrong, and that was the sentence that summed up Robbo perfectly. He'd agreed to the suggestion of a night out, which was ridiculous in and of itself, and Jordan had tried to tell them that by listing all the reasons it didn't make sense.

"But you don't drink," he said with a frown. It was his first port of call but he was almost convinced that it would make Milly see sense, because there was nothing more unpleasant than being sober in an entire building full of drunk people, and Milly knew that more than most. "You'll spend most of the night getting shoved about and then you'll just be pissed off."

"I can drink without having fun, and I like watching people embarrassing themselves," Milly said. His grin was easy, if not stubborn, and Jordan knew that he wasn't going to shift an inch on this. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't try.

"Since when is a nightclub a good place to meet people?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. James was stubborn but Jordan was just as bad, and he'd known James long enough to be able to stay strong in the face of those raised eyebrows. "The most I'll find is a one night stand – I thought you wanted me to move on?"

"I think a one night stand is exactly what you need!" Andy said, piping up out of nowhere. Seriously, Jordan needed new friends and he needed them _now_.

Which is the only thought running through his head as he stands with his back against the wall, watching the two idiots dance like… well, idiots.

There's a lump in his throat every time a man checks him out, because it feels wrong. It feels like he's cheating on Adam, somehow, even though they haven't spoken in weeks and they haven't been together for even longer. It aches, because the man's eyes aren't the right colour, or his hair is too short, or he doesn't smile the same.

This was a bad idea, and he tells Milly as much when he finds him at the bar. "Look, mate," he says, almost shouting to be heard over the noise of the club. "This was a nice idea and all, and I really appreciate it, but– I just don't think it's gonna work. I'm gonna head off."

He wants to leave. He intends to, already half spinning on his heel, because he knows that if he stays any longer, James will give him _those eyes_ and convince him to stay, but there's a hand on his wrist dragging him back before he can even take a step.

"Wait, wait, don't go yet," Milly says, leaning in close and speaking directly into Jordan's ear conspiratorially. "I think that guy over there wants to buy you a drink, Hendo." Jordan follows the line of his eyes, over to the other end of the bar, and true to his word, there's a man staring at them. He's– different, to Adam, and that's putting it lightly. They're polar opposites. 

He's tall, much taller than Adam, towering over most of the people around him by three or four inches. And his hair is long, darker and tied back in a bun at the base of his skull, curling slightly around his hairline from the humidity. His eyelashes are long, sweeping against the bronze skin of his cheeks when he blinks, and his mouth, tugged up into a pretty smirk–

He's stunning, to put it mildly, and he makes Adam look average in comparison.

Before Jordan can even think twice about what's going on, the man is by his side in an instant, sliding into the space that James left – he's gone? When did he go? – and leaning forward to make himself heard over the music.

"Can I buy you a drink?" He asks. His voice is deep and velvety, like gravel as the words slip out of his mouth, and _oh_ , Jordan thinks. _Oh indeed_. "What are you having?"

"Um," Jordan says dumbly, because he can't seem to get his mouth to work. He's caught by the man's gaze, lost in his eyes. There's something so enticing about him, dragging Jordan in like a wave and he's trapped in like an undercurrent. "Vodka and coke, please."

"Good choice," the man says, signalling for the bartender to pour them two drinks. He holds his hand out for Jordan to shake, smirk transformed into a smile, small and genuine. It makes Jordan's heart beat twice as fast. "I'm Virgil – nice to meet you."

"Jordan," he says, taking Virgil's hand. There are calluses on his fingers, rough and catching against Jordan's palm, and his skin is cooler than Jordan expected, but it's nice. It feels nice, like little shockwaves travelling between them. "It's nice to meet you, too."

He means it.

.

The brick scrapes roughly through his thin jacket when he gets pushed against the wall, but he barely feels the sharp sting of pain. Instead, he curls his fingers around the lapels of Virgil’s coat, breath catching in his throat when he looks into the other man’s dark, dark eyes.

“Do you live far?” He asks bluntly, because there’s no room for pretence when Virgil is looking at him like _that_. It’s like he’s hungry, and his hands framing Jordan’s face are trembling slightly from the force of holding himself back. Virgil shakes his head, leaning down to brush his mouth against Jordan’s – a taste of what’s to come.

They both know exactly what they’re doing.

Virgil takes them back to a hotel, right in the heart of Liverpool. It’s one of the more expensive ones, filled with smarmy businessmen and women fluttering their unnaturally long eyelashes, but somehow Virgil fits in seamlessly. He flashes a charming smile to the lady at the reception desk, who blushes and doesn’t even look twice at Jordan.

The room is big; there’s a king-sized bed in the centre, plush and decorated with dozens of scatter cushions, directly across from a glass double door, leading out onto a balcony that overlooks the Mersey. It’s the wrong season, really, windy and bitingly cold outside, but it’s a stunning view nonetheless. 

A part of Jordan wonders if Virgil booked this room especially for this situation, in case he brought anyone home. But it looks lived in, a creased shirt slung over the armchair in the corner and a few pairs of shoes lined up by the door. Some kind of business trip, maybe. He opens his mouth to ask, but then Virgil is behind him, hands brushing Jordan’s shoulders as he asks, “can I take your jacket?” 

Jordan can only nod, letting Virgil slide it off his shoulders and down his arms with a gentleness that surprises him. He doesn’t know why – he barely knows the man, after all – but something tells him that his touch isn’t going to be as tender later on.

He’s right, too, point proven only seconds later when Virgil has carefully hung his jacket on the back of the door. Silence falls over the room, hushed and full of anticipation, and Jordan holds his breath for _one-two-three_ before Virgil’s hands wrap around his biceps, pulling him in for a bruising kiss.

It’s hot and messy, Virgil’s tongue sweeping against Jordan’s and his fingertips are digging into the muscle almost painfully, but it all adds to the sensation. Jordan forgets his own name when Virgil’s teeth nip at his lower lip, sharp and stinging, and he grips the other man’s waist just because he needs something to hold on to. Just something to keep him grounded.

Nothing in the way he kisses could remind Jordan of Adam. He’s forceful instead of timid, controlling instead of equal, and he seems to know what Jordan likes, what he _wants_ , without even asking.

He’s nothing like Adam, and that’s what makes him perfect.

Jordan isn’t thinking of anyone else when Virgil pushes him onto the bed and looms over him. There’s a grin on his face, sharp and dangerous, but he isn’t scared. It makes him want to fight back twice as hard, the push and pull of it making his mouth water. He’s waiting for the main event, for that perfect moment when the rest of the world drops away and he remembers what he’s been missing, with nothing else but the warmth of Virgil’s body and his mouth on Jordan’s skin.

He's trembling when Virgil undresses him with careful movements, fingertips brushing over his skin lightly. It's calm, a few minutes of peace washing over the room as Virgil takes in every inch of bared skin with dark, wide eyes. He’s smiling now, rather than grinning – and it’s not dangerous anymore. It’s a tiny little thing, secretive, mouth quirked up at one corner and the white glint of his teeth worrying his bottom lip.

“You’re gorgeous, Jord,” he whispers as he lines himself up. Jordan can’t remember the last time someone used that nickname – _Adam_ , a voice in his head tells him, and he ignores it – but it makes his chest feel tight, and he surges up to kiss Virgil as he bottoms out. 

He sees stars. That’s the only way to describe it; Virgil knows exactly what buttons to press and he presses them well, until Jordan is gasping and pleading and begging, nails scratching sharp lines down his back. It must hurt, but it just spurs the other man on, driving Jordan crazy until he comes, unexpected and untouched. Virgil follows seconds later, face tucked into Jordan’s neck and holding onto his hips so tight that he’s going to leave bruises.

They stay like that for a while. Virgil makes no effort to pull out and roll away, instead lifting his head to kiss Jordan, fingers wrapped around the side of his neck as his thumb rests on the pressure point at the front of his throat. His kisses are different to before, heat dimmed until they just leave Jordan feeling warm, soft, and almost sweet.

It’s never felt like this before. _Jordan_ hasn’t felt like this before, not with anyone, and he knows that he doesn’t actually know Virgil (not in the slightest, considering they only met a handful of hours ago), but he feels like he’s seen parts of him that no one else has. He feels like that because he’s just shown Virgil a side of him that he’s kept hidden, because that has somehow transcended every one night stand he’s ever had – not that there’s been too many, but enough that he knows what it normally constitutes. 

Eventually, Virgil moves, and Jordan gasps at the feeling of him pulling out. He hates the way it sounds, desperate and slutty, but Virgil groans, palm coming up to cup Jordan’s cheek, and he kisses him roughly. It makes Jordan’s head spin, fingers curling around Virgil’s bicep. He doesn’t move his hand, not even when the other man rolls to the side to lay on his stomach.

The silence is… Awkward isn’t the right word for it, but it’s definitely not comfortable. Jordan feels like he should be filling it, asking questions and getting to know Virgil, but the other man has his face turned away and the line of his body seems tense.

Jordan stares at the ceiling for one beat, and then another, until the need to say something gets unbearable and he can't keep biting his tongue anymore. "Do you want me to leave?" He asks, too aware of the fact that he might regret the question.

Virgil mumbles something but it's muffled by the pillow he's pressing his mouth to, and Jordan can't understand a word. He twists his fingers into the bedsheets, pulling them up over his chest to ease the self consciousness that has started to seep through the cracks. 

He really isn't equipped enough to deal with flings like this.

"No… No," Virgil says eventually, a full second later than Jordan would have liked. The hesitance has made him unsure and he's already started planning on making his escape, how he's going to leave and what he's going to say, but he can't deny the way his body visibly relaxes at Virgil's words. He can't deny the fact that he wants this to be more than a one time thing. "I want you to stay."

“Alright,” Jordan breathes. There’s a dumb smile on his face and he can’t wipe it off, grinning up at the ceiling. He must be soft in the head, he decides, and then schools his expression into something neutral, turning onto his side and tucking his hand under the pillow. The sheets are pooled around Virgil’s waist and the bare skin of his back looks so alluring, smooth and soft. Jordan wants to touch him. “Alright, okay.”

Virgil finally turns his head, meeting Jordan’s gaze head on and looking at him with careful, guarded eyes. Jordan isn’t sure what he’s looking for but he must find it, because he smiles, then shifts a little closer and slings an arm over his waist, tucking his chin against his chest. His nose is brushing Jordan’s shoulder, cold and making him shiver, but he can’t quite bring himself to care.

“Goodnight,” Virgil murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Jordan’s skin. He closes his eyes, lashes fanned out against his cheeks, and the moonlight slipping through the curtains is casting shadows across his face. Jordan doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so beautiful.

He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat, glad that Virgil’s breathing has evened out and he’s sleeping peacefully. He doesn’t want to scare him off so early, so instead of saying anything, he traces gentle patterns up the line of Virgil’s spine, fingertips brushing featherlight and more delicate than he’s ever been in his life. He feels like he’s handling something fragile, something that he needs to take care of.

He forces himself to stay awake long enough that his eyes are burning and his entire body feels heavy, but it’s worth it just for how peaceful Virgil is while he sleeps. 

.

Milly and Robbo are already sitting in Jordan’s living room when he gets home the next morning, mugs of tea in hand and twin expectant expressions on both of their faces. They look a lot better than he feels, and not for the first time, he really regrets giving Milly the responsibility of having a spare key.

“Where have you been, then?” Milly asks, patting the space on the sofa next to him. Jordan refuses to be intimidated by him because he’s seen him cry at The Lion King more than once, but he also knows that Milly could (and would) crush him with his bare hands if he was so inclined, so he reluctantly sits. “I assume you had a good night.” 

“Nothing special,” Jordan says, but his cheeks are bright red and he can’t stop staring at a spot on the carpet. It’s a tea stain, he thinks, and he didn’t even know it was there. He should really borrow his mum’s steam cleaner and get that fixed. It was probably Milly’s fault, anyway. Maybe he should hire a professional service and bill James for it.

“Didn’t see you leave,” Robbo says, placing a cup of tea on the table in front of Jordan. He’s got an eyebrow raised, waiting for the gossip, and – knowing him – probably wanting all of the gory details. Jordan definitely isn't going to give them to him, though. He doesn’t kiss and tell. “Was it that guy in the bar?” 

"Who?" Jordan asks. He tries to make himself sound as disinterested as possible, sipping his tea like he doesn't have a care in the world, but his heart is pounding a bruise against his ribs and he's trying not to break into a blinding smile just from thinking about the night. It was one of the best he's had in ages – since Adam – and the first time he's felt genuinely _good_ since the break up. It was a nice change, and it made him realise what he's been missing. There's no point being miserable anymore, he decides.

And –– not that he's going to admit it, but Milly and Robbo were right. He did need to get under somebody else.

"Don't play stupid with me, Jordan. I don't blame you, you know – he was gorgeous," Andy says, patting Jordan's knee approvingly. He forgets, sometimes, that Robbo is still best friends with Adam. He knows he shouldn't, but he just kind of assumed that after he broke it off with his ex, all of his friends would do the same. A clean break, if only there was such a thing, but he supposes he'll just have to get used to it. "What's wrong? Did he not look like that in the cold light of day?"

Jordan scoffs before he can stop himself, because if anything, Virgil was even more beautiful when he was all sleep soft and quiet with the weak morning sunlight casting a golden glow on his skin. 

(He'd woken peacefully, the heat of a body next to his cutting through the cold air, and he knew exactly who it was. Like he could forget Virgil, with that sinful mouth and those hands taking him apart so carefully.

Virgil's arm was around his waist, chest pressed against his back and a thigh between his legs. Jordan could feel every breath on the back of his neck and the calluses pressing against the bare skin of his stomach, and he felt safe. He felt like he could trust Virgil with anything, and that in itself made him feel unsafe. It was terrifying, because he didn't even _know_ the man that he was sharing a bed with.

But he wanted to.

He stretched over to grab his phone off the bedside table with a groan, but Virgil's arm tightened around his waist, pulling him back in with a groan and cuddling even closer. "It's alright, I'm not going anywhere just yet," Jordan whispered with a glance at the time. He traced his fingers up and down Virgil's arm in a soothing pattern, and the other man settled back into sleep.

It was nice, being held like that. Virgil was a bit of an octopus about it, arms and legs wrapped around Jordan so tight that he could barely breathe, but it was strangely comforting. He let himself lay there, grin hidden in the pillow beneath his head, and soaked up the feeling.

Virgil eventually stirred, shifting impossibly closer and sighing, and his fingers tightened on Jordan's stomach for a moment before he pulled away. "Good morning," he murmured, hand brushing over the other man's ribs as he rolled onto his back.

Jordan got out of bed, pulling on his boxers, and made them both a cup of tea, handing one over to Virgil who was still in bed, sheets pooled around his waist. He was fucking stunning, really, and Jordan couldn't believe his luck – he had had mind blowing, incredible sex with that man – and he flushed bright red every time his gaze travelled down to Virgil's bare chest.

He didn't want to leave, but he had to. He'd promised his parents he would go round for tea, and he didn't think his mum would approve if he turned up unshowered in the same clothes he'd gone out in. She was worried enough about him after the break up as it was, and he didn't want her to think he was going off the rails.

"I'll text you?" Jordan asked, unable to keep the hope out of his voice. He would have been embarrassed about it – except for the fact he would really, really like a round two, and he didn't care if Virgil knew that. He was kind of hoping for the same reaction, if he was being honest.

Virgil just nodded, not taking his eyes off of Jordan's, and then curled his fingers around his wrist before he could leave, pulling him back for a hot, dirty kiss that made Jordan's toes curl in his shoes.

Yeah. He was really up for round two.)

"So he was still gorgeous without the beer goggles, then? And how was the…" Milly says, pausing to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively. He is just as bad as Robbo, if not worse, and together, they're actually Jordan's very own personal nightmare. He'd bin them off if he wasn't so attached. "How was the sex? Was he good?"

"I had a good night," Jordan says firmly, straightening his spine. That's the most he's going to give them, because – as cheesy as it sounds – he wants to keep these details private. They're intimate, only for him, so he can keep them close to his heart. The first night of hopefully many that he's going to spend with Virgil, and he doesn't want to marr that by letting James and Robbo run away with it with their filthy minds.

Robbo opens his mouth to ask more questions (ones that are more than likely to be explicit enough to make Jordan blush right to the tips of his ears), but Milly stops him with a hand over his mouth and meets Jordan's gaze head on. "Are you seeing him again?" He asks, not a hint of teasing in his tone. He has always wanted the best for Jordan, since the very first time when they met as teenagers. Jordan just shrugs, because he doesn't want to jinx it. "Do you want to see him again?"

"Yes," Jordan says, and it's the most truthful he's been since that ill fated end-of-times chat with Adam.

He wants nothing more.

.

Upon Milly's advice, he waits until the evening to text Virgil.

His friends had finally left him alone after some begging – and him shoving them forcefully out the door – and he'd put the night out of his head, because the last thing he wanted was his mum getting any ideas.

Still, she seemed to know somehow. She had commented on how happy he'd seemed, and said that it was nice to see him smile again. That was accompanied with teary eyes and a pinch to his cheek, until Jordan's dad had cleared his throat and led her away.

The break up was hard for his parents too. Him and Adam had been together for coming up to three years, and they had it all – a dog, a little house with a nice, big garden under the assumption that one day there would be tiny feet to fill it, and plenty of picturesque holidays. Everyone expected them to be together forever, Jordan included, because they were practically one person, _Jordan-and-Adam-Adam-and-Jordan_ , with nothing else separating them.

And Adam was his _family_. Jordan's mum called him love and his dad called him son. He spent Christmas with the Hendersons and was invited to every family wedding, christening, and birthday party. Distant relatives would ask Jordan how his partner was doing every time he bumped into them – _oh, how's that lovely boyfriend of yours? I hope you'll invite me to the wedding!_ – and even the staff in the coffee shop near Jordan's office knew who he was.

It seemed like the ideal life. Happy and perfect until it wasn't, and Jordan couldn't even pinpoint the moment he realised that everything had changed, but he just knew that one day, it _had_. He woke up one morning, looked at Adam, and thought, _I'm not in love with you anymore_. It had broken his own heart, because he never wanted to be the person to hurt the ones who love him, but he couldn't carry on lying to himself.

Sometimes, he had realised, you need to hurt other people to save yourself.

When he finally broke down and admitted everything to Adam, he'd been surprised to find that Adam agreed. They realised they had been living the last few months as friends more than anything else, and the relationship felt like an obligation. No point in holding each other back, Adam said, and that was the end of that.

It was mutual, but it felt like Jordan's heart had been torn straight out of his chest. A whole part of his life had been ripped away, and he couldn't remember who he was before he had Adam by his side.

At first, whenever his mum had asked if he'd met anyone nice, Jordan had thought she was waiting for him to tell her that he and Adam had changed their minds and gotten back together. It made him defensive, awfully so, spine straightening and shoulders tense, and he snapped at her one time she asked – and was absolutely disgusted at himself after.

She apologised, wrapping her arms around him and pressing a soft kiss to his hair, explaining that she didn't _expect_ anything and that she just wanted him to be happy. She hated seeing him so miserable, she said, because he was still her little boy no matter how old he got and she just wanted him to find someone who loved him as much as she did.

That was the first time he'd really let himself cry about the break up, with his mum holding him like he was a little kid again, and he finally started to feel better afterwards.

Today, when she asked him if he'd met anyone, he simply told her he'd been out with the boys and had had a good night. She hadn't quite realised the implication, asking where he went and how Milly was getting on with his fiancée, but his dad had raised his eyebrows over his glasses, looking like he understood a bit more than he wanted to.

It was a nice day. A bit of family time always set him on the right track again, and he barely thought about those dark, striking eyes and sharp cheekbones – apart from the fact that Virgil's number made his phone feel like it weighed a tonne in his pocket with the anticipation, and he panic-called Milly when he got home, asking how long you were supposed to wait before texting someone.

"I've just come out of a three year relationship, for fucks sake," he snapped down the phone, clenching his fingers into fists and then unfurling them again. He was tense, a little bit anxious, and honestly, just way out of his depth. "I can't remember dating etiquette anymore, can I?"

Deep down, he knew that the reason he was panicking was because he didn't want to fuck it up. He wanted to see Virgil again, and he didn't want to say the wrong thing and scare him off.

"I've been with Amy for five," Milly pointed out, but Jordan really wasn't in the mood for logical reasoning. He was freaking out and he needed to know what to do, and he needed his best friend to be the one to do it.

Eventually, Milly had decided that the evening would be the perfect time to text – "It's not too early that you look desperate but not too late that it's an afterthought. I am good at this, aren't I?" – and then invited him round to watch a film so he wasn't looking at his phone every two seconds.

But when Jordan wakes up the next morning, he doesn't have any notifications and the message is still unread.

.

The cold feeling of realisation is awful. It drops on him when he's in the shower one night, while he's getting ready for bed. It's been a busy week at work and the next few days aren't going to be any better, so he's barely had a minute to let himself think at all, let alone about Virgil. 

Of course, that text was still sitting in his inbox, unread and taunting him every time he looked at his phone, but he didn't think twice about it – other than telling himself that Virgil was probably busy, or forgot, and that he'll reply soon.

Except he doesn't get a reply. Not after a day, or two, or eight. And it's the ninth day, when he's in the shower, eyelids heavy and shampoo in his hair, that something clicks in his mind and his heart drops into his stomach, fizzing in the acid and making him feel sick.

_Virgil isn't going to text back. He doesn't want to see you._.

He hates how it makes him feel, broken and awful in a painful way. He didn't even know Virgil but he felt _something_ , deep in his chest and uncontrollable. He wasn't looking for it, didn't ask for it, because the last thing he wants so soon after the break up is another serious relationship, but it was there, and that's undeniable. 

But clearly, Virgil didn't feel the same way. Jordan doesn't understand _how_.

When he gets into bed, hair still damp because he doesn't have the energy to dry it properly, he's still thinking about it. It makes him feel split open and raw, chest aching sharply every time he takes a deep breath, and the last thing he does before he settles properly is text Milly, saying, _he doesn't want to see me again_ , and then puts his phone on silent so he doesn't hear his best friend's calls.

And if he cries himself to sleep, well – nobody needs to know.

.

Milly lets him mope around the house for another four days before starting to coax him out. First, it's just dinner at his house, and Amy cooks his favourite meal. It's nothing but a pity party, really, judging by the way Amy hugs him as soon as she sees the bags under his eyes, but he doesn't mind. It's quite nice to have the sympathy sometimes.

Then it's coffee at Jordan's favourite little shop, the one that overlooks the Mersey. He knows the owner so well that she's practically family by now, a lovely lady with greying hair and a sweet smile that always asks how he's doing. Elle, her name is, and when Jordan admitted that he'd broken up with Adam, she had sat and listened to him talk about it for hours, bringing him coffee after coffee for free.

He's only ever brought Milly here. Not Robbo, and definitely not Adam, because this place is sacred to him. It's the place where he goes when he's celebrating, and the place when he goes when he's upset. It's the only place away from his parents' house that really feels like home, and he doesn't want to taint that by regretting bringing temporary people here.

Milly's plan works. Elle gives him a hug and then a clip round the ear and tells him to stop feeling sorry for himself, and she gives him a slice of his favourite chocolate cake on the house. She tells him that he can – and should – be happy on his own, absently rubbing the spot on her finger where a ring once was. She divorced her husband after forty years, she told him once, and bought the cafe with the settlement money, and that she's never been happier.

"You need to learn to love yourself," she says, looking at him with wide, serious eyes. She reminds him of his grandma, he thinks, and that's why he loves it here so much. "Enjoy your alone time. Spend afternoons walking around the city by yourself, remember why you fell in love with the place. Just– just be you, Jordan, because you're wonderful."

Milly just nods, agreeing with every word Elle says. Then he tells him he's got two tickets for the Liverpool game tonight, and that he's not taking no for an answer. And really, Jordan is just grateful for the distraction. He’s sick of thinking about it all – Adam and Virgil and everything else in between, swirling around his head until he’s so overwhelmed that he can’t breathe.

Eventually, all the small trips out build up and cumulate to another proper night out. “Confidence building – _again_ ,” Robbo says. He’s had one beer too many and talking so seriously that it’s almost comical, but Jordan, sober as a judge, pities him enough to listen. “James Milner knows exactly what he’s talking about. He’s a smart man, you know. You should trust him more.” 

Jordan trusts Milly with his entire life, and that’s why he agrees to it.

It’s much the same as last time; the same club because the drinks are cheap and the music is good, it’s still dark and still loud, and the lights aren’t doing anything to help his headache. He’s regretting the decision as soon as he pays the entry fee and steps foot into the place, because he keeps looking round, expecting to see a familiar smirk and the same hands that have been haunting his dreams for weeks. 

He thinks he sees Virgil at the edge of the dancefloor once, but as soon as he takes a few steps closer, he notices that it’s all wrong – the hair is too short, the nose too crooked and lips too thin, and the man is barely hitting six foot. Disappointment curdles coldly in his stomach, and he orders three shots of tequila just to stop his skin from crawling. 

Against Milly’s wishes, he gets drunker than he’s probably ever been before. He doesn’t _mean to_ , it just– makes things a little bit easier. It stops him thinking, just for a while, and he becomes a different person. It might not be a person he recognises, but at least this version of him isn’t sad, isn’t looking around like a man possessed for someone who clearly doesn’t give a fuck about him.

And he takes Milly’s advice from last time. Takes it and takes it to heart, finding himself in the middle of the dancefloor. There are plenty of guys looking at him, asking to buy him a drink, trying to get his number – and for the first time tonight, he doesn't care what they look like. 

He's not looking for anyone – no, any _thing_ – specific, and it's fucking liberating.

The guy he ends up with is non-descript. Average, to say the least, and that’s all Jordan wants. He doesn’t want them to be eye catching. He doesn’t want to be able to remember the roughness of his hands, or the timbre of his voice the next day, and this one is perfect.

Blond. Average height. Boring London accent. Unforgettable in every way, and that’s why he ends up with his back pressed to the wall outside the club, the man’s hands in his hair and mouth on his.

Jordan doesn’t even know his name.

He lets himself be kissed, for a few minutes, and he tries to force himself to be interested, but it all hits him at once: _sharp cheekbones full lips wide eyes dark skin rough hands pushing pushing pushing him back on him and in him, everywhere until he can’t escape, but he doesn’t want to, because it’s Virgil, it’s **Virgil**_ –

He pushes the man away with all of his strength, enough that he stumbles back a few steps until he manages to steady himself, and then looks at Jordan with a glare that could kill.

“I’m sorry,” Jordan gasps, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It’s wrong, all of it – the taste of his mouth and the length of his fingers, his clean shaven chin and short hair. It makes his skin crawl, like he’s being _unfaithful_ to Virgil. Virgil, who won’t text back, and doesn’t want to see him, and probably doesn’t even remember he exists, he thinks bitterly. “I can’t. I can’t do this.” 

There’s an empty taxi waiting on the corner of the street, and he sets off for it without a single glance back at the older man, texting Milly as he goes, _sorry. Wasn’t feeling well, gone home. See you some other time x_. He sits in the back of the cab and closes his eyes, breathing through the waves of nausea that have nothing to do with the tequila rolling around his stomach.

He just wants to be home, alone and in peace. Well, as much peace as his mind will actually give him right now.

Before he goes to sleep, he finds himself with his phone in his hand, the bluish tint of the screen lighting up his entire bedroom. It’s alcohol that fuels his bad decisions when he presses **messages** – **compose new** – **Virgil**.

But it’s his broken heart that fuels him when he types, _if you didn’t want to see me, you could have just said. I can take it, I'm an adult. You, on the other hand – you’re just a cunt_ , and presses send without thinking twice about it. 

.

“Shame you felt ill last weekend,” Milly says, shooting a playful grin at Jordan. It’s the first time they’ve seen each other since, and the only communication they’d had was three texts from Milly, all left unread in Jordan’s inbox. “You know Robbo can’t handle his drink, well – he threw up all over some poor woman’s shoes while he was trying to chat her up!”

Milly laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and it would be normally, but there’s still an aching chasm in his chest and he’s finding it hard to see the humour in just about anything. Instead, he smiles weakly, hiding his face behind his cardboard coffee cup. “Sounds like I missed a good night,” he says, hoping Milly doesn’t pick up on how pathetic his voice sounds. 

“Should make up for it this Saturday,” Milly says, too casual to be natural. He’s clearly been planning this for days, and Jordan knows that it’s only because he wants to take his mind off of everything, but he’s tried it twice now and it’s made things so much worse. He’s sick of putting himself through it.

“I’ve had a really busy week at work,” Jordan says apologetically, angling his body away from his best friend. Milly can read him like a book, so it’s easier this way. He stares out across the Mersey, clutching his coffee so tight he’s almost crumpling the cup, and keeps his expression neutral. “I think I’m just gonna stay in and catch up on some sleep.”

“You sure?” Milly asks. He puts his hand on Jordan’s shoulder, and the touch is so sympathetic that it makes the younger man feel sick. He doesn’t want sympathy – he just wants some time to himself to regroup and remember who he is. “We don’t have to go to the same place. There’s that new gay bar on–” 

“Really,” Jordan says, making his voice as firm as he can muster. He wants to snap, to grab Milly by the shoulders and shake him, ask him, _can’t you see what this is doing to me, I can’t do it anymore, James, it’s too much_ – but instead he takes a deep breath and smiles. “You should spend some time with Amy. If you carry on like this, she’ll think you’re cheating on her with me.” 

Milly regards him carefully, gaze burning hot on Jordan’s cheek until he turns his head and meets his gaze. His smile is fixed firmly in place, and it must be more convincing than it feels, because Milly finally nods. “If you’re really sure,” he sighs, and that’s the end of that.

.

Being alone isn’t as good as it sounds. That’s the only thing he’s learnt this weekend, he thinks as he’s staring at the same four walls, and it’s only Saturday evening. He was doing alright, at first – he caught up with all the TV he’s been too busy to watch, and then he dug out all the old records his dad had given him years ago. They’ve been sitting in a box in the attic since he moved out of Adam’s house (and it was theirs, once, but that makes him feel sick so he shakes the thought away), because his ex had loved them, dancing round the kitchen every week while he made Sunday dinner.

It was a nice distraction at first. Kate Bush pumping through the tinny little speakers on the record player, memories of sunny mornings and his mum singing at the top of his lungs while a four-year-old Jordan sat and watched her in fascination, while his dad read the paper in his armchair. It made him feel safe, thinking about it.

Until Kate’s voice echoes around the quiet room, wailing, **you don’t want to hurt me, but see how deep the bullet lies** , and he feels it like a knife to the heart. He scrambles to his feet and drags the needle away from the record so fast that an awful static sound pierces his ears, and he’s probably scratched the vinyl, but he’s not thinking about it.

All he’s thinking is: _I’m the problem, aren’t I? I’m– I'm unloveable_.

Suddenly, he feels sickeningly lonely. He’s suffocating in the silence of the room, and all he wants is to hear another voice, one that isn’t the taunting one inside his own head. He should have accepted Milly’s invitation, or even just suggested a quiet night in, but it’s too late now. His stubborn pride means that he’s not going to call his best friend and change his mind.

Instead, he shoves his trainers on his feet and grabs a jacket as he stumbles out of the door. The cold winter air isn’t doing anything to clear his head, not even when he drags in breaths that are deep enough to make his lungs burn. It’s all still there, making his eyes itch and his chest ache, and he just wants it to _stop_.

He knows the route to the pub without even thinking about it. It’s a dingy little place, where the drinks are cheap and the lights are low and the jukebox is always going, and him and Robbo always used to frequent it when they were at uni. Every Friday night, after a busy week and a deadline completed, they’d go to The King’s Arms for a few hours, and sometimes, if they felt like it, go into town afterwards.

He’s not going anywhere else tonight. He just wants a drink or two, to drown his sorrows in a place that feels more like home than his own house, until tears have stopped stinging at his eyes and his hands aren’t shaking anymore. This is the only place he can think of.

The smell of sweet, home-pressed cider and the incense Carol burns behind the bar floods his senses as he pushes the door open, and his entire body relaxes, tension leaving his muscles. He blinks, eyes adjusting to the dim lamps that are dotted around the pub, and smiles when Carol steps out to throw his arms around her.

"Jordan Henderson!" She cries, Liverpool accent thickening her words. The old men cradling their pints don't even look up. They're used to him, here – it might not be the kind of place that students normally drink in, but Carol reminded him of his mum, and that was a blessing during those awful homesick days at university. "It's been far too long. Where have you been?" 

"Oh, you know. Work," he says vaguely, waving a hand out. He doesn't want her to ask about Adam because he doesn't want to have to relive it all again, not while there's still a storm raging in his head – but then he figures that this is _Carol_ , and she deserves honesty at the very least. "I just... Adam and I split up." 

She makes a sympathetic noise, already back behind the bar and pouring him his usual drink. Top shelf whiskey, three bottles from the left. No ice. "You always deserved better than him, anyway," she says airily, and Jordan can't stop himself from laughing. It makes him feel a little bit lighter. She slides the glass across the bar top, waving away his attempts to pay her. "On the house, love. Maybe if I give you free drinks, you'll come see me more!" 

He thanks her, remembering every single reason he used to come here, and makes a mental note to visit more. She'd owned the pub since she was in her twenties, becoming a fixture in the local community, and she loved being so close to the university because all of her own children had grown up and scattered around the country. It made her feel young again, she said, now that she had another few sons to look after.

They chat for a while, Carol telling him about her granddaughters and showing him pictures on her battered old Android. She's proud of her family, and Jordan feels a stab of envy. He wants that; to create his own little group of people that look up to him unconditionally. He thought that was what he and Adam were working towards, but he was clearly wrong.

He's on his second drink when he sees something out of the corner of his eye. A peacoat draped over broad shoulders and a familiar pout, and he must be dreaming – except, when he looks again, it's the same sight. Anger coils tightly in his belly, and he tells Carol he's just spotted an old friend.

"Oh, hi, Virgil," he spits, slamming his drink onto the table as he slides into the seat opposite the other man. Virgil glances up, surprise flashing across his face before slipping back into a neutral expression, and then he stares back down at his drink. "Yeah, I've been good, thanks. No, I didn't get your text, it couldn't have gone through. Of course I know you wouldn't treat me like that, good to bump into you though."

"Are you done?" Virgil asks, raising an eyebrow. He looks completely unbothered by Jordan's outburst, and it's only making him angrier. He wants to give him a shake and ask him why he thinks it's okay to treat Jordan like that – no matter how pathetic it sounds. "What are you doing here? Are you following me?"

"It's difficult to follow someone as slippery as you," Jordan says. He's still furious, sadness transforming into something bitter as soon as he spotted Virgil in the corner. _Maybe it's the reminder of what you could have had_ , a voice in his head says. It sounds suspiciously like Milly, and he pushes it away. "This is my local, thanks. Could ask you the same thing."

"Well, you don't have to," Virgil says, tipping his pint towards Jordan and then draining the rest in one movement. He slips his phone back into his pocket and stands. "'Cause this is my cue to leave."

He's _leaving_.

Because Jordan showed up.

_Selfish prick_.

Virgil glides around the table and walks past Jordan in one smooth movement, one hand on the door handle before Jordan has had a chance to move.

But he's not giving up that easily because he never has, and he follows Virgil out into the cold night, reaching out and curling his fingers around his wrist before Virgil can disappear entirely, and pulls him back. Virgil doesn't turn around, but the side of his face is lit up by the orange street lamp above them.

"Get off me," he says lowly. The strength of his voice should scare Jordan, and it was probably meant to, but instead it sends a shiver down his spine, and he tightens his grip so hard it must hurt. He wants to get until Virgil's skin in the way that Virgil's gotten under his.

"No, I want to know why," he says, keeping his voice as firm as he can. He straightens his back and puffs his chest out even though Virgil can't see him, and takes half a step closer. The dark shadows of Virgil's eyelashes fan across his cheeks as he stares at the floor, deadly still. "I want to talk to you."

"Don't you ever get the hint?" Virgil snaps, but he makes no move to pull his arm away. The streets are quiet even though it's a Saturday night – this is a residential area, far enough from town that they won't be bothered by drunk teenagers and chatty wine mums. The perfect place to have it out like this. "I don't _want_ to talk to you. You were just a shag, Jordan – get over yourself."

"Bullshit!" Jordan says, and in the blink of an eye, the fingers of his free hand have curled into the material of Virgil's coat at his shoulder, spinning him around and shoving him back against the wall. The other man's mouth parts in surprise, and he stares at Jordan, trapped against the brick without fighting back. The back of Jordan's neck heats up, and he lowers his voice. "You asked me to stay." 

"So?" Virgil says, but his voice is softer now, less defensive. There's barely two inches of space between them and Jordan can feel the warmth of his breath when he talks, and he digs his fingernails into the thin skin of Virgil's wrist just to stop himself from doing something stupid – like kissing him. Virgil's eyes flash darker. "That doesn't mean I want to see you again. You could have been anyone."

“But I wasn’t, was I?” Jordan counters. He pushes Virgil even tighter against the wall, gets in his face and makes sure he can’t be ignored. “You chose me. Out of everyone in that club, you chose _me_ , and you bought _me_ a drink, and you took _me_ home, nobody else. You asked me to _stay_ , Virgil. Why would you ask that if it was just a quick fuck?” 

Something flashes across Virgil’s eyes, defeated and broken, before he closes them and tips his head back until it hits the wall. “I don’t know,” he says quietly. His shoulders slump, and something clicks in Jordan’s mind.

"You're lonely," he says slowly, realisation dawning. He loosens his grip on Virgil’s wrist slightly, thumb stroking up the thin skin on the inside of his arm as softly as he can. He feels guilty for his outburst, for pushing it, and all he wants is to wrap his arms around Virgil until he’s not lonely anymore. “That’s why you asked me to stay – because you’re lonely.” 

"Stop. Shut up, Jordan," Virgil says tiredly, tilting his head to the side. He finally opens his eyes, but stares at a spot to the right of them instead, and refuses to meet Jordan's gaze. He doesn't react to the back and forth sweep of his thumb, either. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Why are you even in Liverpool?" Jordan asks, because he can't stop himself. He doesn't think twice about his words as he speaks, and Virgil frowns, looking uncomfortable. "You're living out of a hotel room, but you seem to know exactly where to drink. And you're going there on your own, why aren't you with friends? It's not a coincidence, Virgil. You asked me to say because you're lonely and you haven't got anyone else, and you missed having someone––"

"Alright, fine! I am lonely, and that's why I wanted you to stay! I forgot what it felt like to have someone by my side all night, and I wanted that company again, just once!" Virgil snaps. He finally wrenches his arm out of Jordan's grip but doesn't push him away, and meets his eyes, looking furious but so, so desperately sad. "My entire family died a long, long time ago and my best friend died even longer before that. I've been on my own for ninety nine percent of my life because I don't want to get too attached to anyone. I've seen what happens when I do. So yeah, I am alone, and it fucking hurts. Are you happy now?"

"No," Jordan says, because of course he isn't. He's heartbroken for Virgil and everything he's been through, and he tangles his fingers with the other man's just to give him the slightest bit of comfort and squeezes. Virgil squeezes back for half a second, and then his hand goes limp, but Jordan doesn't let go. "You're not on your own, not anymore. You've got me."

"I don't _need_ you," Virgil says, but it doesn't come out even half as hurtful as he was probably intending it to. Instead, he sounds defeated and small, shoulders slumped and breaths shaky. His eyes are sad, shining with that hundred yard stare that comes from years of hurt.

"You might not need me," Jordan says quietly. He takes another step closer, his left foot planted between Virgil's. They're touching properly now, thigh to thigh and chests brushing, and it takes everything in Jordan's power not to lean up and kiss Virgil. He needs to take his time and not ruin this. "But you've got me anyway."

His movements are careful when he slides his fingers from around Virgil's wrist and up the length of his arm, until he can curl his arms around his shoulders and pull him in for a tight hug. It's a little uncomfortable; Virgil is a bit taller than Jordan and his body is entirely tense, not accommodating the hug at all.

But then he relaxes and his arms wrap around Jordan's waist, pulling him in just as tight and tucking his nose into the other man's hair, and holds him while he waits for his breathing to stop shaking. It's so cautious and gentle, and Jordan knows that it's something special, knows that Virgil doesn't let anyone touch him like this – and he doesn't touch anyone else like this, either.

"D'you fancy a drink?" Jordan asks eventually, voice soft and low and right against Virgil's ear, and feels the quiet laugh and nod he gets in return rather than seeing it.

.

They get on alright. Actually, scratch that – they get on really well, but Jordan isn't surprised, because he knew from the long minutes in bed they'd spent talking that night, and the light, teasing conversation they'd had the morning after. 

Carol is eyeing them from behind the bar, winking at Jordan when he goes up to get another round of drinks, and he blushes but understands entirely. It's flirty and casual, sweet laughter being drawn from the long line of Virgil's throat, and their knees knocking under the table when Jordan makes a comment about The Beatles being a cheap version of The Beach Boys and Virgil doesn't agree.

He only says it to make the other man smile, anyway.

Neither of them are drunk; Virgil’s movements are fluid and graceful, smile genuine, and it makes Jordan’s heart beat a pretty pattern against his rib cage. The whiskey makes him feel brave, skin buzzing with the need to touch, and he wants, he wants and wants and wants. He wants it _so bad_ that it hurts.

“Did you really not feel it?” Jordan asks quietly, leaning in closer to Virgil. He can’t tear his gaze away from the other man’s face, drinking in the way his eyebrows raise and his lips are tugged up at the corners, a little bit smug but no less beautiful. “When I was with you–– it’s like you could read my mind. You knew everything I wanted, and you did it. You did it _well_. I don’t know, it just felt – natural. Like there was something drawing us together. It was different, and that’s why I wanted to see you again. Did you not feel it, too?” 

“‘Course I did, Jord. That’s why I _didn’t_ want to see you again,” Virgil says, rolling his eyes. He flushes faintly pink, barely visible in the low lighting of the pub, but Jordan catches it, and it sends a thrill down his spine. He could get used to this feeling – it’s a dangerous thought. “You weren’t too bad yourself, you know.” 

Virgil takes a long sip of his beer, lower lip shining wetly when he pulls the glass away from his mouth. Jordan can’t stop staring, transfixed, and Virgil has definitely noticed but he doesn’t care anymore. Enough is enough, and he snaps his gaze back up to meet Virgil’s, hooking his foot around the other man’s ankle.

“Come home with me,” he says levelly, even though his heart is beating like he’s just ran a marathon and the tips of his ears are burning hot. “I want – I want you to come home with me.” 

“Fuck,” Virgil breathes, closing his eyes. He knocks his knuckles against Jordan’s on the table and then opens them again, pupils wide and liquid. The look on his face is the very definition of desire, and now it’s Jordan’s turn to feel smug. “Yeah. God, yeah, of course. You have no idea what you do to me, Jordan.” 

They don’t rush; Jordan takes his time finishing his drink and so does Virgil, sharing intense looks and hushed words across the table, fingers brushing every so often. And then, when their glasses are finally empty, Virgil stands, places a hand on the small of Jordan’s back and leads him out of the pub. Carol is raising her eyebrows at Jordan as he leaves, and he gives her a small wave before the door swings closed.

“You seem to know that place pretty well,” Virgil says casually as they fall into step beside each other. He’s dropped his hand but Jordan can still feel the warmth of it on his shirt, and it hits him just how much he wants Virgil to be touching him at all times. Their hands knock as they walk, but it’s not enough.

“Used to drink in there when I was at uni,” Jordan says, shrugging like it’s no big deal, but he’s struggling to focus. He’s achingly hard in his jeans at the prospect of what’s about to happen, and all he wants is to grab Virgil and shove him against the nearest wall, let him take Jordan right there and then, but he does have a little bit of self restraint. Instead, he stretches his pinky finger out, heart stuttering when Virgil hooks it with his own. “The beer is cheap, and Carol reminds me of my mum. They do the best Sunday roasts in the entire city. I just– it used to calm me down when I was stressed, that’s all.” 

“That’s sweet,” Virgil says. His mouth is curved up into a smile, and he nudges Jordan’s shoulder with his own, but the movement seems bittersweet. A little sad, maybe, and Jordan feels a hole open up in his stomach. “You seem really loved. I hope you know that.” 

He closes his eyes briefly and takes a deep breath, and when he opens them, he stops walking and pulls Virgil so he’s facing him, levelling his gaze. “You could be too, you know,” he says, voice low and quiet. There’s nobody else around but those words aren’t for anyone else to hear, and he wants Virgil to know that. “If you let yourself.” 

Virgil smiles, eyes glazing over a little bit, and brings his free hand up to brush the back of his fingers along Jordan’s cheek. “I know,” he says softly, thumb catching at the corner of Jordan’s mouth. “I know I could. I think I want to try.” 

The rest of the walk is silent, and Jordan spends most of it staring down at his shoes, glancing up at Virgil whenever he can’t believe this is real. Last week, when all he was getting from his phone was radio silence and bitter disappointment, he never thought he’d end up here: walking back to his house with Virgil, hand in hand (or, rather, finger in finger), cautiously happy and so, so excited to spend another night with him – and whatever comes after.

Virgil peers around Jordan’s house with a surprising amount of interest, flicking through the boxes of records and making affirmative noises at some of the rarer ones, and stopping to peer at the framed photos on the fireplace.

“It’s not much, but I only moved in six months ago,” Jordan says, and Virgil looks at him curiously. He’s blushing with embarrassment, but he doesn’t know why. The house is still quite bare and there are a few packing boxes dotted around, filled with stuff that doesn’t have a place yet. Virgil seems– cultured, Jordan thinks is the word for it, and the white walls and teal sofa don’t really scream that. “I went through a break up. Let him keep the house because I didn’t want to be reminded of our relationship every day.” 

“I’m sorry. His loss, though,” Virgil says, a frown on his face. He takes a step closer until they’re practically nose to nose, and cups Jordan’s face in his hand, the other one on his waist, pulling him in tight. “And my gain.”

He finally, fucking finally, slots his mouth against Jordan’s and drags his body even closer, until Jordan has to hook his arms around Virgil’s neck. They’re chest to chest, one of Virgil’s thighs sliding between Jordan’s, and his mouth is hot and tastes like beer, and his fingertips are pressing bruises into Jordan’s skin, and Jordan is completely out of his mind with want. He keens, biting Virgil’s bottom lip.

Jordan gasps as he breaks the kiss, but Virgil keeps going, sucking bruises on the thin skin of his neck. He rolls the spot between his teeth, then licks over it, kissing it soothingly. It aches, just slightly, and it’s probably blossoming red and purple by now, but Jordan wants to wear the marks proudly. 

Virgil keeps licking wet paths down Jordan’s neck, tongue flattening in the dip of his collarbone, but the other man hooks the tip of his index finger into the thin band that’s keeping Virgil’s hair pulled back and works it free. He threads his hand into the thick curls and tugs sharply until Virgil is looking at him, a soft, desperate noise leaving the other man’s mouth.

“Take me to bed,” he says lowly, voice gravelly. Virgil blows out a slow, deep breath through his mouth, and nods. He looks like all of Jordan’s wet dreams materialised; his lips are red and kiss-swollen, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, and he’s trembling ever so slightly. It wouldn’t be noticeable if Jordan wasn’t so close, but he can see everything.

He tangles his fingers with Virgil’s and leads him up the stairs and into his bedroom, stopping at the foot of the bed and turning to face Virgil. It’s quiet; the only sound is the harsh echoes of their breaths, but you could cut the tension with a knife. The air is thick, anticipation coating everything, because the moment is finally here. It’s finally happening.

Virgil’s slides one large palm along the length of Jordan’s jaw and tilts his head up, foreheads resting together while they just look at each other for a moment. “Are you sure?” Virgil murmurs sweetly. His eyes are dark but serious, and Jordan feels something squeeze tight in his chest.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life,” Jordan whispers. Virgil huffs out a short laugh and smiles, a tiny, graceful little thing, and leans forward to kiss him again. It’s different this time; it’s soft and deep, Virgil licking into his mouth while he cradles his head, and Jordan’s fingers wrapped around Virgil’s wrists. He doesn’t want to let go, so he doesn’t – he presses his thumbs against the pressure points there and listens to the other man breathe in sharply.

He pushes Virgil down to sit on the edge of the bed and Virgil’s hands slide to rest on his hips, looking up at him with a gentle look on his face. His eyes are shimmering brightly and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and Jordan thumbs it free, pad sliding gently along the length of it.

His fingers are shaking as he reaches for his own shirt, unbuttoning it as quickly as he possibly can with clumsy hands. Virgil’s palms slide up his sides and over his chest, pushing his shirt off his shoulders. It lands on the floor silently, and Jordan would feel self conscious if it wasn’t for the look in Virgil’s eyes and the way he peppers soft kisses all over his stomach.

Virgil breaks away for a second to pull his own jumper over his head and Jordan feels the loss of the warmth like a slap to the face. He shivers slightly, before Virgil shifts across the bed until his back is resting against the headboard, and then beckons him over with a curled finger.

Jordan goes willingly; crawling across the bed until he’s close enough that Virgil can get a strong grip on his hips and pull him onto his lap. His knees are riding high against Virgil’s ribs, jeans rough against the soft skin there, but he wants more. He wants to feel the heat against his own bare skin, wants the tingling and the goosebumps. He wants to be Virgil’s entirely, without any pretences.

“Soon,” Virgil whispers against his lips, as if he can read Jordan’s mind. His tone is soothing and it settles the buzzing in Jordan’s veins slightly, but it’s still not enough, so he curves the fingers of both hands across Virgil’s cheeks, thumbs stroking at his temples, and catches Virgil’s lips with his own.

The kiss is heated now, more like making out, and Jordan’s been hard since Virgil agreed to go home with him in the pub but somehow it’s even _more_ now, spreading through his entire body and making his toes curl. He can’t help but grind his hips down against Virgil’s, swallowing the syrupy little gasps the other man lets out.

“God, fuck,” Virgil says, voice wrecked. He tucks his face into the curve of Jordan’s neck and wraps his arms around his waist, breathing shallowly. The muscles of his back are trembling delicately when Jordan slides his hands against them, fingertips brushing comforting patterns. “Want you. I want you so much, Jord, you have no idea.” 

Jordan curls his fingers into Virgil’s hair and coaxes his head back, offering him a small smile. “Show me then,” he whispers, lips sliding against the shell of Virgil’s ear. Virgil shivers, just once, then his fingers flick the button of Jordan’s jeans open smoothly. He slips his fingertips under the waistband and works them down his thighs until he can kick them off.

Virgil shimmies his own tight jeans off, hooking his hands under Jordan’s thighs and lifting him slightly like he weighs nothing to get them off completely, and Jordan isn’t ashamed to admit that the pure strength turns him on even more.

It’s even better like this, only the material of their boxers separating them and his bare legs brushing against Virgil’s, and the other man ruffles his thumbs over the dusky hairs on his thighs as he kisses him again. The slip of his mouth against Jordan’s is burning hot, turning him inside out, and he grips the back of Virgil’s neck just to keep himself grounded. He feels like he could float up, up and away without it.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Virgil murmurs, lips sliding against Jordan’s cheek. His gaze is cast firmly down as he tucks the waistband of Jordan’s underwear snugly under his balls, and his cock springs free. The tip of it is already shiny with precome and he can feel Virgil’s eyelashes sweep against his cheek as his eyes slip shut for a second, planting a dry kiss on the high point of Jordan’s cheekbone.

Jordan hisses when Virgil curls his fingers around his dick, palm warm and thumb swiping over the head. The other man doesn't take his eyes off the sight, forehead resting against Jordan's temple as he moves his hand, twisting his wrist on every upstroke, just the way Jordan likes. He feels hot all over, burning up from the touch, and he thrusts his hips up to meet Virgil's fist.

Virgil just stares, transfixed, at the contrasting shades of their skin and the way his fingers look wrapped around Jordan's dick as he works his hand up and down, not letting up for a second. His mouth is open and he's breathing hotly against the other man's cheek, free hand coming up to thumb over Jordan's nipple. It's too much, all these sensations at once, and heat coils low in his belly as he curls his palm around the back of Virgil's head, holding gently him in place.

"'m close," he gasps, lips buried in the hair at the crown of Virgil's head. What he really means is _please stop, I'm gonna come and I don't want this to be over too soon_ , but Virgil doesn't take any notice. Instead, he twists his hand once, twice, and again, and drags the blunt edge of his thumbnail over the slit. The sharp flash of _painpleasurepain_ sends Jordan over the edge, and his vision fades to white at the corners as he comes, streaks of it hitting Virgil's bare chest.

"Sorry," Virgil murmurs, at least having the decency to smile sheepishly. He removes his hand from Jordan's softening cock and swipes a finger through the come on his chest, bringing it up to his mouth and licking it clean. Jordan's dick makes a valiant effort to harden again at the sight, throbbing against his thigh, and he groans. "Couldn't help myself."

Jordan leans forward and kisses Virgil, thinking _he tastes like me but it feels so right_. He chases the taste, licking into Virgil's mouth, then pulls away with a sigh, eyelids slipping closed. "I still want you to fuck me," he whispers, pecking the corner of Virgil's mouth. There's still a heat in his belly, and he wants more, wants all of it, everything he can get – until the only thing on his mind is Virgil.

"Greedy," Virgil says with a smirk, and Jordan opens his eyes, raising his eyebrows. He makes to move away but Virgil pulls him back with a whine, their chests pressed flush together. Jordan can feel his dick, still trapped in his boxers, sliding against the crease of his thigh and throbbing, and his mouth waters. He feels desperate, like this is the first time again.

Of course, this is different to last time – this one feels like it _means_ something.

He leans far enough away so that he can reach his bedside table and open the drawer, pulling out a condom and the bottle of lube that's been stashed in there since he moved in (but hasn't actually been used yet). Virgil is too preoccupied, teeth grazing over Jordan's nipple before he takes it into his mouth, rolling the bud between his teeth. Jordan's entire body is on fire, but he forces himself through it, slicking his fingers up and reaching behind himself. The angle is awkward but all he can really feel is the wetness of Virgil's mouth.

"I wanted to do that," Virgil murmurs against his chest when he notices that Jordan has slipped a finger inside. He's pouting, lips brushing against Jordan's collarbone, but he doesn't make him stop. He reaches for the lube and sticks up his own fingers, the pad of his index finger brushing down the crease of Jordan's ass before sliding it in, right next to Jordan's own.

His finger is longer than Jordan's, thicker, and the burn of unfamiliarity shoots right up Jordan's spine. He gasps, back arching as his own hand stills, and he grinds down on Virgil's finger, always wanting more more more. He tries to kiss Virgil but ends up breathing into his mouth more than anything else. "Please," he whispers, movements stuttering when Virgil twists impossibly deeper.

Virgil kisses the corner of his mouth when he pushes another finger inside, swallowing Jordan's needy little whines as they leave his throat. He scissors them, stretching Jordan carefully and as pain free as he can, but it still stings. Jordan wants to feel the burn for days, whenever he stands, whenever he sits, and know that Virgil is the one that made him feel like that.

"Fuck," he cries, when Virgil hooks the tips of his fingers and he hits his prostate. He doesn't let up, keeps pressing the spot over and over again, until Jordan is fully hard and his dick is resting against his stomach, smearing wet against the soft hairs there. Virgil uses his free hand to slide his own boxers off, and now the full length of him is sliding against Jordan's thigh. He's bigger than Jordan remembered, thicker, but then the memory never really compares to the real thing. "Please, Virg – _fuck_ – I'm ready."

He's sweating now, beads of it rolling down his neck that Virgil chases with his tongue, and he circles his hips back down onto the other man's hand as he tries to pull it away. He knows he asked for more, and he wants it more than anything, but he feels so empty when Virgil removes his fingers that he whimpers, desperate and needy. It's a noise he's never heard himself make before – but then again, Virgil makes him feel like nobody ever has.

Virgil soothes him with a hand on his face as his other hand rolls the condom on and slicks up his dick, bringing Jordan's head closer and kissing him gently. Soft, soothing kisses, open mouthed and slow, until Jordan can breathe again and his heart rate has slowed down until it's almost normal. 

"Come on, baby," Virgil murmurs, thumbing softly under Jordan's eye, and Jordan curls his fingers over Virgil's shoulders, nails digging into the muscles of his back. He lowers himself slowly, hissing at the stretch because Virgil is by no means small and it's been a while, and bottoms out with a stuttering sigh, unable to look away from Virgil's half lidded eyes. "That's it, you're so good for me."

He waits until the pain of the stretch turns into pleasure, warmth at feeling so full, and slides his hands up to cup Virgil’s neck. He rests their foreheads together, stares at Virgil like there’s nothing else in the entire world that he wants to see and then kisses him, just once, whispering, “move.” 

Virgil's hands close around his waist, thumbs pressing against the sharp points of his hip bones, and he takes a second to kiss the hollow of Jordan's throat before using the grip on his hips to drag his body up. He pulls almost entirely out, looking at Jordan from underneath his lashes with a smirk on his face, and then slams him back down, thrusting up to meet him.

The angle is impossibly deep and Jordan can feel every drag of Virgil's dick as he lifts himself up and down, up and down, relentless and punishing. Virgil is hitting his prostate dead on too, every single time, and he feels feverish, fingernails digging into the other man's shoulders as he just holds on and takes it.

It's all he can do, choking out tiny little whimpers and broken cries when Virgil's hands slide up to his back, huge palms hot and heavy over most of the area. He pulls him close, teeth grazing over Jordan's collarbone before he bites down sharply, and the sting makes him feel everything else so much more. His dick is trapped between their stomachs, sliding from the precome and sweat on their skin, but he doesn't think he needs anything more than that to get off. 

Because Virgil is everywhere; the warmth of his skin, the calluses on his fingers catching against the bumps of Jordan's spine, the wetness of his mouth, the scent of his aftershave. It's all around him, _Virgil_ is all around him, on him and inside him, and it's all so overwhelming. It's definitely different to last time, he thinks, because he's categorising every detail, thinking about the way it makes his chest feel full and his mind calm.

"You feel so good," Virgil murmurs, dragging his nose up the length of Jordan's throat. The pace of his thrusts still don't let up, using his arms around Jordan's waist to keep him moving as he presses sloppy, off centre kisses to the hinge of his jaw, the thin skin below his ear. "Fuck, Jord, you make me feel so good."

Tears sting at the back of Jordan's eyes for reasons that he can’t explain and he cups his palms around Virgil’s face, thumbs sweeping back and forth over his cheekbones. He’s feeling so much right now, and it’s all far too soon, but it doesn’t seem to listen to logic. Instead, it swells in his chest, threatening to spill right over. He tips his head down and kisses Virgil to keep it all in. 

He’s on the edge and so close to falling right over, but Virgil’s mouth keeps him holding on, kissing in time to the slower pace of his hips. He just feels –– full, that’s the only word for it, like Virgil is taking up every single empty space inside his body, and he loves the feeling. He doesn’t want to lose it, so he kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him, tiny little kitten licks into the other man’s mouth because he’s too exhausted to do anything else.

Virgil’s hand slides from his back, further down, until the tip of his finger is tracing where he’s inside Jordan; exploring, pressing a little harder. He stutters out a gasp into Virgil’s mouth as the other man smirks, teeth closing harshly on Jordan’s bottom lip in a way that definitely wasn’t an accident. “I’m gonna come if you do that,” he whispers, barely managing to drag the words up his throat.

“Do it,” Virgil says firmly, but he smooths his hand back up the length of Jordan’s spine all the same. He kisses Jordan’s bottom lip once, just a peck over the stinging spot he bit, then pulls away. Not far – just enough to rest his forehead against Jordan’s temple, gaze never leaving his face. “Come for me, Jordan. Come.”

His hands press firmly against Jordan’s back until he’s forced to arch closer, dick trapped snuggly between them, and urges him to move. So he does, lets his hands slip the tiniest bit lower until they’re wrapped around Virgil’s neck, nails scratching at his nape to find some purchase as he starts pulling himself up just to slam back down.

It’s all he needs, it’s more than enough, and he can’t stop the breathy little moans that escape his mouth on every thrust. His eyes fall closed as he feels his stomach tighten, cock throbbing, and all it takes is _one-two-three_ thrusts before his entire body tightens and he sees stars, coming in waves that roll up from the soles of his feet.

He comes back to reality to Virgil kissing the corner of his mouth gently, whispering, “you’re so good for me, Jord, so fucking good,” before he grabs his waist in a grip hard enough to bruise and drives his hips upwards in a relentless pace. Jordan is oversensitive but too tired to move, just threads his fingers in Virgil’s hair and holds him as he tips over the edge with a low groan.

Virgil’s eyes are closed, chest flushed and heaving as he breathes heavily, there’s a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face from his hairline, and he’s easily the most beautiful sight Jordan has ever seen. He turns his head and catches Virgil’s mouth with his own, moving against him with perfectly exhausted movements, and he doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but it feels like forever. 

He kind of wants it to be forever.

Eventually, though, he pulls away, because Virgil’s softening dick feels a little uncomfortable inside him. The other man chases his lips, manages to drag another two or three kisses out of him before he pulls away properly, hand on Virgil’s chest to stop him coming closer.

“Stop,” he murmurs, a little too whiny, but Virgil just huffs out a soft laugh as Jordan climbs off of his lap and collapses onto his back. His entire body is sore, muscles aching and knees still shaking from the force of his orgasm, but he forces his head to the side to watch Virgil slide the condom off and discard it in the bin before disappearing into the en-suite bathroom.

He comes back with a damp washcloth and kneels on the bed, between the splay of Jordan’s legs, and kisses the inside of his knee once before wrapping his fingers around his thigh and moving his leg. Every single movement is gentle and careful as he cleans Jordan up, a look of concentration on his face like he’s trying his hardest not to hurt him – as if he ever could.

“Leave it,” Jordan says when Virgil stands and makes to go back into the bathroom, voice rough and fucked out. He doesn’t care how needy he looks when he reaches out with both hands, because Virgil goes willingly, dropping the washcloth on the floor and climbing back into bed with Jordan.

Jordan rolls into the heat of his body immediately, tucking his cold nose against the dip in the centre of his chest as he throws an arm around his waist, and Virgil laughs softly, pulling the duvet up over them. It's a little too chilly, deep winter air setting into the bedroom because Jordan didn't bother to turn the heating on when they got in, and he's definitely not doing it now.

Virgil's arm slips under his shoulders and tugs him in closer while his other hand hooks under the meat of his thigh and pulls it up and over his legs. It's so comfortable that Jordan sighs, eyelids heavy and falling closed, already halfway to sleep.

"That was good, wasn't it?" Virgil says suddenly, and Jordan can hear the grin in his voice. It lights up the room even though it’s pitch black, only a few beams of moonlight slipping through cracks in the curtains. “No complaints from me.” 

“Was alright – seven out of ten,” Jordan murmurs. The words are muffled into Virgil’s skin and he slides his palm up the other man’s abs slowly, capturing the way the muscles feel against his hand, before stopping on his chest, fingertips tracing **_7 / 1 0_** right over his heart. 

“A _seven_?” Virgil says, with a tone of mock outrage. Jordan can imagine the face he’s pulling, offended beyond belief, crystal clear in his mind, and he turns his head to the side just to hide his smile in Virgil’s chest. Of course it wasn’t a seven, it was so much more than anything Jordan has ever felt before, but he’s got to keep Virgil coming back for more. “Come on, that was _at least_ a ten – I’d definitely give you better than a _seven_.” 

Jordan keeps tracing a number seven, but Virgil huffs and catches his fingers, pulling them away from his chest. “Guess you’d better try harder next time then, hadn’t you?” He says, and a moment of hushed silence settles over them as they take in the sincerity of what he’s just said.

He panics, for half a second, that it’s too much to assume and Virgil is going to run away again, but the anxious buzzing in his veins quietens into a pleasant hum when Virgil brings Jordan’s hand to his mouth and kisses his knuckles softly. “Can’t wait,” Virgil says, and the honesty in his tone makes Jordan feel dizzy.

Virgil tangles their fingers together and then lowers their joined hands to rest over his heart, and Jordan knows he’s drifting off to sleep by the slow _in-out-in-out_ of his chest against his cheek. He feels calm, like everything’s right in the world, as he closes his eyes and lets the motions soothe him into sleep. 

They fall asleep like that; Jordan doesn’t know where he starts and Virgil ends, tangled up in each other like a single inch of distance would be the worst thing in the world, and really, Jordan can’t remember the last time he was actually this happy.

.

Jordan wakes up first, in the same position he fell asleep in. It’s barely past eight but he’s wide awake from the second he opens his eyes, giddy and excited like a kid at Christmas, just from seeing Virgil, sleeping peacefully next to him.

He takes a second to look at him, really, properly look: his dark eyelashes are fanned across his cheeks and his mouth is slightly parted, fingers twitching where they’re resting on Jordan’s shoulder. He looks younger like this, with the fine lines around his eyes smoothed out and his breathing deep and even. 

He slowly untangles himself from Virgil’s grip, careful not to wake him, but pauses when he’s sat on the edge of the bed. Virgil stirs, whining quietly at the loss of warmth and then curls his arms around the pillow Jordan has just abandoned. He settles when he buries his face in it – _it must be my scent_ , Jordan thinks, fondness spreading through his chest – and he brushes a stray curl out of Virgil's eyes, leaning down to press a dry kiss to his forehead.

It definitely feels different this time. There’s no uncertainty and his mind isn’t split in two, wondering if Virgil is going to meet his eyes when he wakes up, or if he’s going to text back, or if he even sees Jordan as more than a one night stand. This is different, and it’s more, and it means something, Jordan thinks, judging by the way his heart starts beating tenfold when he watches Virgil’s fingers flex, stretching outwards before curling back around the corner of the pillow.

Watching him like this feels intimate, vulnerable in a way that Virgil himself admitted he never let himself be, and Jordan almost wishes he could take a picture and save it forever – but that’s ridiculous, really, because he’s living it right now. He doesn’t need a keepsake to remind himself, not when he can just reach out and touch, not when he knows that Virgil won’t mind.

He pulls on his boxers and a t-shirt, and with one last look over his shoulder at the bed, heads downstairs. The best he can do to make a good – second – impression is breakfast. He wants to give Virgil a reason to stay.

He’s too busy focusing on breakfast and doesn’t notice when Virgil comes down the stairs, not until the other man slides an arm around his waist, hand resting on his stomach, and presses a soft kiss just below his ear.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into Jordan’s hair as he drops another kiss. His hand slips underneath Jordan’s t-shirt, palm warm against his skin, and stays there for a long moment, sleepy and content. “Smells good. What you making?” 

“Just a fry up,” Jordan says, trying to aim for casual and failing. There’s a blush rising on his cheeks but he fights it back, feeling far too affected by the simple greeting than he really should, and he twists in Virgil’s arms to lean up and give him a quick kiss. Because he can. Because he’s allowed. He forces himself to push Virgil away gently, or he knows that he’ll never finish making breakfast. “Sit down, it’ll be done in a minute.”

Virgil pouts but retracts his arms from around Jordan’s waist and sits at the table. He rests his chin on his fists and watches, gaze burning into Jordan’s skin as he plates up, but he doesn’t feel flustered under the weight of the look. Instead, he feels calm, a sense of peace washing over his entire body as he sits opposite Virgil and places both plates on the table. 

It feels like he’s finally found the one place he belongs.

They eat in silence, occasionally sharing knowing looks and soft smiles across the table. Virgil’s socked foot knocks into Jordan’s, before hooking it around his ankle, nudging him playfully. It’s so comfortable, the hush over them and the casual affection, and Jordan can’t stop himself from reaching across and tangling their fingers.

“You never actually told me why you’re here,” Jordan says, once he’s finished eating. He pushes the plate away and leans back in his chair, but doesn’t move his body away from Virgil’s. Every point of contact is nice, the warmth spreading through his veins and making him feel content. “Business or pleasure?” 

“Bit of both, really,” Virgil says. The smirk on his face leaves no room for interpretation, and Jordan kicks him under the table, but he just smiles even wider. “Technically business, because I’m a journalist. I was offered a temporary contract at a magazine here in the city, with the option to make it permanent if I get on alright – but the pleasure, meeting you, is all mine.” 

Jordan feels a hot flush crawl up his throat, right to the high points of his cheekbones. Everything he says, all the sweet words and all the compliments, it makes Jordan’s chest feel tight. It’s new, this feeling, so new. He doesn’t think he ever felt it with Adam. “Shut up,” he mutters, rolling his eyes at Virgil’s smug grin.

Virgil is out of his seat in seconds, palm curving around Jordan's cheek as he tilts his face up, and kisses him deeply, messy but perfect. He tastes like bitter coffee and peppermint toothpaste, and underneath it all, something sweet that Jordan has started to categorise as him. Just him, Virgil, intrinsic and heady. He loves the taste.

"I'm gonna go get dressed," Virgil says, although he keeps kissing Jordan, syrupy little pecks that make his toes curl against the tiles. He doesn't want to let go, and neither does Virgil, but eventually he pulls away and heads upstairs, taking the steps two at a time.

When he comes back down, he's in his skin tight jeans and one of Jordan's hoodies – his favourite one, baggy and comfortable, loose from years of washing and faded from the same. It looks good on him, still big despite the width of his shoulders and the broadness of his chest, and Jordan can't help but smile. He feels possessive, almost, seeing Virgil in his clothes – but he knows now that he really doesn't have anything to worry about.

"Sorry," Virgil says, glancing at the watch strapped around his wrist. His mouth is turned down at the corners, so there's a furrow between his eyebrows that Jordan wants to smooth out, so he does. He stands, cups Virgil's cheek with his palm and strokes his thumb over the line, not missing the way the other man leans into his touch. "I've got to go, Jord."

"It's fine," Jordan says, and means it. After last time, he knows he should be anxious about it, wondering if this is it and panicking that he won't see Virgil ever again, but something deep in his stomach tells him he doesn't have to worry. That won't stop him teasing Virgil, though. "You actually gonna text me back this time?"

"Don't," Virgil says. He looks pained, the furrow on his forehead deepening when he frowns, and he turns his head in Jordan's grip slightly to press a dry kiss to his palm. "I still feel really guilty about that. I'm sorry I didn't text you back, you didn't deserve it."

"Virg," Jordan says as patiently as possible, because if they're going to get past this, then Virgil needs to move on from it too. It's all over now; he explained why, even if it was in an angry outburst, and Jordan understands. He just wants to focus on making sure Virgil doesn't feel like that ever again now. "I promise you, it's fine. I'm over it, alright? Now if you have to go, then go, and I'll see you later, yeah?"

"But I don't _want_ to go," Virgil says. He's pouting as he wraps his arms around Jordan's waist and pulls him in tight, and Jordan automatically loops his arms around Virgil's neck. They stand there, quietly swaying on the spot, until Virgil sighs. "I want to stay here with _you_."

"It was you who said you needed to go," Jordan says. He rolls his eyes but presses a gentle kiss to Virgil's lips anyway, the index finger of his left hand curling round a stray curl that's escaped from Virgil's bun. "And we can make plans, alright? I'm sure it won't be long until I see you again."

"Fine," Virgil says reluctantly, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he tips his head forward and catches Jordan's mouth with his own, kissing him for long, long minutes. It feels like forever, honestly, and Jordan knows that he should be telling Virgil to leave to make his plans on time, but it's hard to think when the other man's hands are so hot on his hips and his own fingers are touching soft, perfect skin.

"What about your shirt?" Jordan asks distractedly. He'd rather not lose his own hoodie – although he's not really that bothered, not when he knows he'll get it back with the smell of Virgil's aftershave clinging to it, but that is most of the reason he wants it back.

"Guess I'll just have to come back and get it, won't I?" Virgil says with a cheeky grin, leaning back in to press a hard, long peck to Jordan lips. He's already making plans for a second date, and a third, and honestly, Jordan is glad. He likes to know he's not alone in this, because it's kind of terrifying. He's feeling far too much, far too soon, but at the same time, it just feels –– right.

Eventually, Virgil leaves, stepping out of the front door with one last blinding smile aimed at Jordan, and he has to take a step back. He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and draws in a deep breath, grin taking over his face and threatening to split him in two.

He really, really thinks he's found something special here.

.

True to his word, Virgil texts not even two hours after Jordan shuts the front door behind him.

**Had a really great time with you, Jordan. Thank you x**

**Can't wait to work on getting a better score than 7/10 x**

Jordan can't stop the smile that spreads over his face, fingertips touching his mouth in disbelief. He can't remember the first time he was ever this genuinely happy, but it's nice. Makes a change from how awful he felt around Adam for the last few months of their relationship, down and out, not giving a shit about himself when his days were filled with the same old crap.

He hated the routine: get up, go to work, come home, cook dinner, shower, and go to bed. Rinse and repeat. Seeing Adam for only ten minutes in the morning, and then for half an hour before bed. Their different schedules meant they hardly spent any time together, but even when they _did_ , Jordan felt nothing. It was just so insufferably boring, no sparks in his fingertips or butterflies in his stomach. He felt empty.

But this is different. He's only spent two nights with Virgil but every touch makes his skin tingle, every kiss makes his toes curl, every compliment makes his heart feel warm. It's all exciting, wondering what Virgil is going to do next, what he's going to say. It makes him feel like a love sick teenager again, and it's just so fresh. He loves the change of pace.

Before he's had the chance to text back, his phone buzzes again, vibrating across the kitchen counter as Virgil's name flashes across the screen.

**I have a question – where is your favourite place in Liverpool? x**

_The docks. Used to spend my summers working at a bar there when I was at uni, and I still love it x_ , he replies, then follows up with, _Why? x_

**Perfect choice. Meet me there at eight? x**

_Sounds good x_

**Can't wait to see you :* x**

Jordan had hoped it wouldn't be too long before he saw Virgil again, but he didn't know it would be this soon.

Then again, he can't really complain.

.

He changes his outfit four times, gets distracted by Virgil's washed and ironed shirt hanging in the wardrobe next to his own clothes for a good three minutes, and ends up arriving fifteen minutes late, but none of that really matters when Virgil's face lights up as soon as he spots Jordan walking over.

"Hi," Virgil says, mouth curving up into a sweet smile. He steps right into Jordan’s space and cradles his jaw in big hands, pulling him in for deep kiss, one that says _hello i missed you it’s good to see you thank you for coming_ – one that sweeps Jordan right off his feet. “You look gorgeous.”

Jordan curls his fingers around Virgil’s wrists to stop him moving away and kisses him again, three little hard, consecutive pecks as he flushes under the compliment. He did put effort into his outfit; a grey sweater that he’d bought years ago (but never worn, stuffed to the back of his wardrobe after Adam told him that he didn’t like it), his tightest jeans, and a black leather jacket. Functional in the cold weather, but he still looks good. He knows he does, because he spent twenty minutes staring at himself in the mirror before he left, deciding whether or not he was happy with himself.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” Jordan says, squeezing Virgil’s right wrist, before sliding his fingers up to tangle with Virgil’s, and lets their arms drop between them. It’s an understatement, really, because Jordan doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone look as good as Virgil does right now.

His hair is down for once, which Jordan really didn’t ever expect to see, curls peeking out from underneath a dark green beanie hat pulled low over his forehead to fight away the bitter wind coming from the Mersey, a knitted jumper in the same colour and that same peacoat that Jordan’s come to expect from him now.

“What have you got planned, then?” Virgil asks. They start walking aimlessly, joined hands swinging between them, and Jordan can't take his eyes off of Virgil's flushed cheeks. Virgil notices, because he glances at Jordan out of the corner of his eye, lips turned up into a soft smile. "This is your favourite place, after all."

"Er, you invited _me_ ," Jordan says playfully, knocking his shoulder into Virgil's. The other man shoves him right back, and they stumble for a second, but neither of them want to let go of each other's hand. "I hope you've got something better planned than walking round the docks on a Sunday night in December."

Virgil purses his lips, glancing down at Jordan with a frown. The height difference is startling in that moment – Virgil is a good four inches taller and Jordan has to tilt his head up to stare at the other man. He's not used to feeling small; Milly and Robbo are both shorter than him and Adam made him feel like a giant, but Virgil towers over him. 

He can't say he hates it. In fact, he likes it – probably more than he should.

"What do people normally do on dates?" Virgil asks, sounding more self conscious than Jordan ever thought he could be. He just doesn't seem the type, but he's biting his lip slightly, and his fingers are twitching in Jordan's. "I don't know, I'm bad at this. Tell me about yourself."

Jordan can't stop the laugh just bubbles up his throat, because the question is just so sweet and painfully endearing. He reaches up and presses a soft kiss to the blush that's sitting high on Virgil's cheekbone. "Well, my name is Jordan Brian Henderson, and I'm 27. I moved to Liverpool when I was 18 and never looked back, but I'm from Sunderland, and I work in a boring little office. My friends are overly invested in my love life, and I think you look really fucking sexy in that hat."

"Nice touch," Virgil says with a smirk, even as his free hand subconsciously moves up to touch the ends of his hair. They stop at the railings at the edge of the docks, looking out over the river and all the lights reflecting off the water, and it strikes Jordan just how romantic this actually is. He hadn't considered that part when he told Virgil that this was his favourite place, but now he's glad. "Virgil van Dijk, 26 years old – pleased to meet you, Jordan."

He holds his hand out to shake, and Jordan takes it, a blinding grin splitting across his face. 

"I'm Dutch, in case you couldn't tell by the accent, but I've been in the UK for years. Lived just about everywhere you can think of, but I think Liverpool is the only place I've ever really felt at home. And, for the record –– I really want to kiss you right now." He finishes with a flourish, and he's smiling, a tiny, embarrassed little thing.

Jordan wants to kiss it right off of his face, so he does.

He winds his arms around Virgil’s neck and reaches up on his tiptoes, slotting their mouths together with an ease he’s never felt with anyone else. All his previous boyfriends, the ones who didn’t matter and the ones who mattered a lot – he’d never be like this with them. He’d never be so open and willing to show affection, especially not in public, but there’s a fierce vein that runs right through his core when it comes to Virgil, and it says only one thing: _mine. yours._

And he wants the whole world to know it.

He pulls back from the kiss with a smile, watching Virgil carefully through half-lidded eyes as he nudges their noses together. The clouds of their breaths mingle between them as Virgil breathes out deeply, and he places a soft, delicate kiss to the corner of Jordan’s mouth as his free hand comes up to cup Jordan’s cheek, thumb stroking soothing patterns across his skin.

"I really wasn't sure if you'd turn up, you know," Virgil murmurs, tilting his forehead to rest against Jordan's. He meets his gaze dead on, eyes serious as he speaks. "After how I treated you, I wouldn't have blamed you. I don't think I would have showed up, but I'm glad you did. I'm really, really glad."

"I'm glad, too," Jordan says, giving Virgil's hand a squeeze. He means every word of it – standing Virgil up was never an option, regardless of how he's been treated, because he's excited. Excited to see Virgil, excited to see where this is going next. He doesn't want to give that up. "I was always going to come, though. I'd never do that."

"I know – because you're a much better man than me, Jordan Henderson," Virgil says, but there's an easy smile on his face. He drops his hand from Jordan's cheek to the small of his back, and he can feel the warmth of the touch even through the layers of his jacket and sweater. "That's why I like you so much."

Jordan flushes bright red but leans up to press a quick, hard peck on Virgil's cheek, and they fall into step beside each other again, walking along the bank of the Mersey. "I don't think you give yourself enough credit," Jordan shoots back, glancing up at Virgil from underneath his lashes. "I reckon you're actually a big softie. Heart of gold hidden in there somewhere."

Virgil makes a noise of protest but doesn't actually say anything, so Jordan decides not to press the matter. Besides, he knows what he sees in Virgil, underneath all the hardened layers from years of hurt, and he trusts himself on being a good judge of character. He trusts _Virgil_ , despite everything, because he's never felt this way before. It must be something special.

“You said you’ve been through a bad break up,” Virgil says casually. He’s obviously trying to change the subject, but Jordan doesn’t really mind – not with the way his fingers are tracing delicate patterns over Jordan’s knuckles, touch warm against the freezing cold air. “What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

He would normally, if it was anyone else asking, but he wants to tell Virgil everything. There's something about his eyes, deep and breathtaking, that makes Jordan want to spill his guts, confess all his darkest secrets and worst sins, and know, that even after all that, Virgil wouldn't treat him any different.

“We were together for almost three years, me and Adam. And it wasn’t…. _bad_ , not really. It just wasn’t good,” Jordan says. He’s frowning, voice quiet and awfully honest, but it’s difficult to explain it when he can barely understand it himself. “I just woke up one morning and realised that we weren’t doing things because we wanted to. Every milestone, like getting a mortgage and adopting a dog, talking about marriage and kids – it wasn’t because we were excited to do it. It was because all our friends were doing it, and it was just the next logical step. I felt trapped in the monotony of it all, and I realised I couldn’t spend the rest of my life like that.

“I don’t know, I don’t regret breaking up with him because he felt the same too, but… It’s been weird. He’s still friends with some of my friends, and that’s fine, I don’t expect him to go out and find a whole new social life. But I also know that he’s become bitter. I hear things, you know, and he’s been making things uncomfortable with our mutual friends by blaming me and making nasty little comments.” 

He bites his lip, feeling the frustration roll over him. Robbo had told him about the remarks a few weeks ago – he hadn’t meant to, Jordan could tell by the stricken look on his face, but it had just slipped out in the middle of a rant. He’d made him promise that he definitely wouldn’t tell Milly, because they both knew he’d probably flip his shit, but Jordan can’t deny the fact that it’s been bothering him.

“Do you miss him?” Virgil asks bluntly, snapping Jordan out of his thoughts. He stops walking and turns to face Jordan, mouth set in a straight, serious line.

“No,” Jordan says with a smile, stroking his thumb up across the thin, delicate skin on the inside of Virgil’s wrist. He doesn’t miss Adam; even from the very moment they officially ended things, he just felt relieved. He’s been lonely, sure, and even angry, and he has definitely struggled to get back into the routine of being alone, but he doesn’t miss Adam as a person. “Not one bit.” 

"Are you happier now?" Virgil asks. He seems curious, if a little embarrassed, as he regards Jordan carefully. "I've never been in a proper relationship, I don't know what it's like."

"Yeah. I feel like myself again," Jordan says, staring down at their joined hands. He loves the differences between them, Virgil's long fingers and big palms on Jordan's pale skin, but he also loves the way their fingers slot together seamlessly. "Besides –– I think I've found something much more exciting now."

Virgil grins, an easy smile as his hands slide around Jordan's waist, and kisses him soundly. This strip of the docks is empty but Jordan wouldn't care either way, and he brings his cold palms up to cup Virgil's neck, fingers tangling in the curls peeking out from under his hat. He tugs, not very hard and just once, and feels the sharp breath that Virgil draws in, the way he nips at his bottom lip. "I don't think I'll ever get bored of kissing you," Virgil murmurs when he pulls away, voice low and gravelly, mouth brushing Jordan's as he speaks.

Jordan knows exactly how he feels. He presses two quickfire kisses to Virgil's lips and feels the fire spread from his belly to his veins, burning hot and making the tips of his fingers tingle. He doesn't think he's ever felt like this with anyone, and it's intoxicating. He's drunk on the feeling, greedy and wanting, and when Virgil's lips slide to his cheek and then down to his jaw, he sighs, eyes slipping shut.

"Not to ruin the moment," he whispers eventually. Virgil's mouth is still warm against his skin and his own fingers have tightened in Virgil's hair, and it's probably a bit too much considering they're in public, but he can't seem to get a logical thought through his head. "But those churros smell really, really good."

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles, and Virgil huffs out a quiet laugh against his neck where his face is still buried. "Alright, stay there," he says, kissing Jordan's temple quickly. "I'll be right back."

The loss of his body heat is a shock to the system, and Jordan tucks his face into the collar of his jacket as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He leans his forearms on the railings of the dock as he unlocks the screen, rolling his eyes when he sees **James Milner – 8 new messages**. He can only imagine the choice names that Milly has been calling him, and it's only been two and a half days since they last spoke.

**_You okay? X_ **

**_Hendo????_ **

**_Where are you???????_ **

**_I’m starting to get worried now_ **

**_Jordan Brian Henderson if you don’t text me back I’m coming to your house!!!!_ **

**_WHERE ARE YOU??????????????_ **

**_?????????????????????????????????????????????_ **

Jordan can’t help but laugh, although he does feel a little guilty. He’s just been – preoccupied, that’s all. The only thing that’s been filling his mind for the last twenty-four hours is Virgil, and all the little things about him: the bow of his lips, the sweep of his eyelashes, the smoky smell of his aftershave, the way he says Jordan’s name.

_I’m fine_ , he texts back, but then decides that it’s not enough. _I bumped into Virgil last night, he stayed over. We’re on a date right now, I’m fine. Stop worrying_

_**Isn’t Virgil the one you met in the club a few weeks ago?** _

_Yes_

_**The one who didn’t reply to any of your texts?** _

_Yes…_

_**The one you called a cunt.** _

_What about it?_

_**You’re on a date with him? Seriously??????** _

_**I didn’t think you gave second chances** _

_This is different. He’s different._

**_Are you sure???????_ **

_Yes. Just trust me._

**_Ok… If you say so._ **

_**Stay safe. Text me when you get home** _

_Yes, mother Milner_

He only catches a glimpse of the last text Milly sends him – which is just two rows of middle finger emojis – before he rolls his eyes and slides his phone back into his pocket, decidedly ignoring James and all his meddling. He only wants what’s best for him and Jordan knows that, but _Virgil_ is what’s best for him. 

Speaking of – Virgil calls his name from behind him, and when he turns, he sees the other man sitting on a bench a few feet away. Jordan goes to him, drawn like a magnet. He couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to, and he finds himself sitting next to Virgil, thighs pressed together, so close it should be uncomfortable. Jordan has never felt so warm.

“I– here,” Virgil says quickly, cheeks flushed bright red either from the cold temperature or embarrassment. Jordan can’t quite tell. He thrusts a paper bag at Jordan’s chest and the other man takes it, folding back the edges as he cradles the warmth of it in his stinging hands. “I got you churros. Sugar and cinnamon, with extra Nutella.” 

Jordan smiles, looking at Virgil with wide, bright eyes. It's only a small gesture but it's probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him – all of his exes used to lecture him about his love for chocolate, telling him how unhealthy it is and informing the waitress that they don't need to see a dessert menu whenever they went out for dinner. 

"Thank you," he says warmly, placing his free hand on Virgil's knee and squeezing for a second. Virgil ducks his head, and it's definitely a blush on his cheeks now. Jordan wants to put his fingers there, feel the heat under his skin and watch the way his breath catches in his throat – but also, his churros are getting cold, so he scratches his nails slightly on the thick denim covering Virgil's thigh and watches him smile at the action.

“God, these smell so much better up close,” Jordan sighs, dipping one of the churros in the pot of Nutella. He pops it into his mouth, chewing carefully, and he’s overly aware of Virgil’s gaze on his face but he can’t quite bring himself to care. “Could honestly marry you right now.” 

“You talking to me or the churros?” Virgil teases, pressing impossibly closer. Jordan offers the bag to him and he murmurs a small thank you in response. Jordan watches him eat, because he can't help himself. It feels special, really, honestly special, to sit and watch the lights bouncing off the river dancing across Virgil's face, the shadows of the dark night highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones. "You're right, these are marriage worthy."

“So, you’ve said you’ve never been in a relationship before,” Jordan says, after a period of silence. He’s staring out across the Mersey now, figuring that the least he can do while asking Virgil a question like this is give him a little bit of privacy. “How come? I mean, you’re… well, you’re _you_. You must have them lining up outside your front door.” 

"It's not like I've _not_ been with anyone," Virgil says with a shrug. His voice is quiet, private, and it sounds like he hasn't told anyone else this before. Jordan leans closer because he doesn't want to miss anything Virgil says, hanging off his every word. "Short term things, really. A few weeks, here and there. Months at most, but I don't know… I hate the idea of putting myself through it – getting attached to someone, falling in love, getting used to spending every day with them for it all to inevitably end. I guess I just never found anyone that I thought was worth it."

"And me?" Jordan asks. It feels like the whole world stops moving; a hush falls over the city and he holds his breath waiting for Virgil's reply, not daring to look at his face. He doesn't know if he'll like what he sees, especially after putting his heart on the line like that. "Am I worth it?"

Virgil curves his fingers around Jordan's cheek and turns his head so he meets his gaze. There's a smile on his face, small and real, and he traces a gentle line under Jordan's eye. "Undoubtedly," he whispers, pure honesty in his voice, and then he leans forward and kisses Jordan. The kiss is sickly sweet, tasting like chocolate and making Jordan draw in a deep breath through his nose, fingers catching in the sleeve of Virgil's jacket.

They kiss for long minutes, churros forgotten in Jordan's hand, but he pulls back eventually and presses one last kiss to Virgil's lips. "Come on, it's too cold to just sit here," he murmurs, tangling his fingers with Virgil's. He pulls the other man to his feet and starts walking, back towards the city. He's so cold he can't feel his toes, but none of that matters when he's got Virgil by his side.

"I love this place," Virgil breathes, pausing on a small bridge over the Royal Albert Dock. He stares out over the skyline, where the liver birds are lit up beautifully against the pitch black sky. "The city of dreams. It's so beautiful."

"Yeah, it is," Jordan says, but he's not talking about the view. He can't take his eyes off of Virgil's face, taking in all the important details. The small birthmark under his right eye and the freckle on the edge of his nose, the shine of his skin and the angle of his eyebrows. He wants to know everything, suddenly desperate – wants to touch and map out every inch of Virgil's body, wants to be able to read him like a book, wants to be the _only one_. "Tell me something you've never told anyone else."

Virgil turns his head and catches Jordan staring, but he doesn't call him out on it. Instead, he smiles, squeezing Jordan's fingers tightly. "You're really fucking special to me, Jordan. I hope you know that," he whispers, gently nudging his nose against Jordan's. "I don't think I've ever felt the way I feel about you. Ever. And I can't wait to see where this goes."

Jordan kisses him soundly, because he knows exactly how he feels.

For the first time in ages, he's excited about the future.

.

Milly regards him carefully over the rim of his mug, a serious, contemplative look on his face, and Jordan knows already that he isn’t going to like this conversation.

“Are you sure about him?” He asks quietly, lowering his voice. Jordan really would have preferred to talk about this in a private place and not the local Costa on his lunch break, but he knows that Milly won’t back down. “Are you really sure? Because after everything he put you through–”

“I’m a fully grown adult, James, I think I can handle being ghosted for three weeks,” Jordan says. He’s smiling, with a little bit of deprecation and a whole lot of sarcasm, but Milly’s used to it by now. He just rolls his eyes, refusing to bite. “He’s really not as bad as you think he is, I promise.” 

"I just don't want you to get hurt again, Hendo," Milly says. His tone is sincere, bordering on emotional, and Jordan is touched – he honestly is – but he can't help but feel it's all a little unnecessary. Virgil apologised, and then apologised some more, until Jordan actually got sick of it and told him he would smack him if he said sorry one more time. 

They've been together for close to two months now, undefined but definitely exclusive. Jordan hasn't looked at anyone else, hasn't even _thought_ about anyone else, and Virgil has been the same. He knows that, because the younger man got a little bit too tipsy when they went out for dinner one night, slurring, _I've only got eyes for you, Jordan Henderson, god, the things you do to me_ , and then promptly passed out as soon as Jordan had managed to get him up the stairs and into bed.

"Why don't you come for a drink with us tomorrow? Bring Robbo," Jordan asks, aiming for casual. He's nervous about it, because Milly and Robbo may as well be his family. They're close enough, and he loves them like brothers, so Virgil meeting them is a big step – one he wants to take. "I'll show you that he really isn't the big, scary monster you've built him up to be in your head."

"I dunno," James mumbles, taking a sip of his coffee. He's staring intently at a spot just over Jordan's shoulder, frowning like he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders. "I don't want to make things awkward."

"Then don't," Jordan says, as if it's obvious. That finally gets Milly to look at him, eyebrows raised up to his hairline, and Jordan sighs, placing his hand on the middle of the table between them. A peace offering. "I really like Virgil, okay? And I'd love it if you got on with him. You and Andy, you're my brothers. And Virgil, well – you all mean a lot to me. Will you just give him a chance? For me?"

Milly considers it for second, blowing over his coffee before taking another contemplative sip. And then he puts the mug down, knocking his knuckles against Jordan's on the table, making sure to meet his gaze head on. "Do you love him?" He asks, voice low.

"I– I don’t––" Jordan says, stuttering over the words stuck in his throat. He can feel his face turning bright red, flush creeping from his neck upwards, and he ducks his gaze, pulling his hand away and staring at a tiny scab on the bed of his thumbnail instead. "That's a little personal, James."

"That's a yes, then," Milly sighs, leaning back in his chair. He stays silent for a minute, letting Jordan process it, but he doesn't really need it. He's known since that first date, the night when they just wandered around the docks for hours and kissed the cold off of each other's skin, that he had the capacity to love Virgil more than he's ever loved anyone before. He actually felt it after their third date, when Virgil had stayed over and Jordan watched him sleep, awed by the sweep of his eyelashes and the way his mouth parted perfectly. He hasn't looked back since.

He hasn't told Virgil, of course. It still seems a little too soon, and keeping it to himself isn't a problem. The knowledge makes him feel safe, if anything.

"Please, James, just –– make an effort," Jordan says. He isn't above begging, really, because he doesn't think he's ever wanted anything more than for his best friends to get on with his boyfriend, especially when they mean as much as Virgil does. It's only been such a short amount of time, too – he knows that this feeling is going to grow as he spends longer with Virgil, and if he can have it his way, he intends for it to be a while. "You'll like him, I swear. He's kind and funny and thoughtful, he treats me well. He respects you because he knows how much I love you, and I know that he can't wait to meet you properly."

When James doesn't reply, he pulls out the big guns.

"You _are_ the one that pointed him out to me, obviously."

Milly groans, bringing his hand to his head and rubbing his temple. He knows there's no way out of this now. "Fine, but if he puts a single toe out of line, I won't hesitate to murder him," he says, pointing a threatening finger at Jordan. "Deal?"

That's enough for Jordan, and a beaming smile spreads across his face as he reaches out to squeeze Milly's hand as a thank you. "Deal," he says, already unlocking his phone and texting Virgil to inform him of the plans.

.

Virgil is nervous as they get out of an Uber just up the road from the bar, wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans roughly. He's walking close, shoulder knocking against Jordan's as his teeth worry at his bottom lip.

"What if Andy doesn't like me?" He asks, voice slightly shaky. He glances at Jordan briefly, with wide, shiny eyes. Jordan doesn't think he's seen him like this before, but he's touched to know that Virgil cares so much. "What if _James_ doesn't like me, Jordan? You can't be with someone if your best friends don't like them, can you?"

"You don't need to worry about that, because it's not going to happen, alright?" Jordan says. He pauses in his walk and wraps his fingers around Virgil's wrist, pulling him back so they're facing each other. There's plenty of people around, drunk students and the odd hen party, but the rest of the world fades to black. There's a single spotlight on Virgil, and that's the only thing Jordan sees. "Just be yourself, Virg. They're gonna love you. You and Andy will get on like a house on fire, and Milly– well, he doesn't have a bad bone in his body."

“Alright,” Virgil says slowly, blowing out a deep breath. He still looks anxious but his expression turns into something neutral, more determined than anything, and then he tries to smile. It’s not quite real, but it’s not too bad, so Jordan will let him off this time. “Alright. I trust you.”

Jordan places a hand on Virgil’s chest and leans up on his tiptoes to kiss him reassuringly, two little pecks that he feels Virgil smile into, properly this time. And then he takes him by the hand, leading him towards the entrance of the pub. “You’ve got this, alright? We don’t have to stay long if you don’t want to, but you’ve got this,” he says, patting Virgil’s chest with his free hand.

“You’re far too good for me, Jord,” Virgil says, and then takes another deep breath as he pushes the door open. They spot Milly and Robbo straight away and Jordan waves at them. He can feel Virgil tense up beside him, so he drags him to the bar. It’ll give them an extra few minutes, at least.

He orders a pint for himself and a whiskey for Virgil, handing the glass to the other man with a sympathetic smile. “You look like you need it,” he says, not unkindly, and Virgil laughs quietly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Look, I can’t keep delaying the inevitable. We’re gonna have to go over there now, okay? But they’ll like you, because they know that I– they know how much you mean to me. They’ve promised to be on their best behaviour. If it gets too much, if you want to leave, just let me know.” 

“Thank you,” Virgil says softly. He presses a kiss to Jordan’s temple but his eyes are on the table in the corner, and Jordan knows that his friends are probably staring right back. “Come on then. Let’s do this before I change my mind.” 

Jordan smiles at him one last time, then tangles their fingers together and drags him over to where Robbo and Milly are sitting. He makes the introductions as quick as he can because that’s awkward enough on its own, but he needn’t have worried, because Robbo launches into the teasing as soon as he’s said hello.

“Are you alright?” He asks, leaning across the table and peering curiously at Virgil. Virgil doesn’t look worried, because when faced with it, Jordan knows his fight or flight instinct will always default on fight. He just stares right back. “In the head, like. I mean, why else would someone that looks like you go for our Hendo?” 

Virgil laughs, deep and throaty and head thrown back, and Jordan kicks him under the table. He’s not offended in the slightest – in fact, his chest feels tight watching his boyfriend and his friends get on exactly how he thought they would, even if it is at his expense.

“He makes a good cup of tea,” Virgil grants eventually, throwing his arm around Jordan’s shoulders. The movement is fond, more affectionate than Jordan would have expected him to be, but the younger man seems almost entirely relaxed by now. “That must be why.” 

"I'll give you that," Andy says, not even blinking at the glare Jordan throws at him. He seems a little mesmerised by Virgil, which – is entirely valid, actually. Jordan feels like he spends most of his life mesmerised by Virgil. There's something about his smile, the way his eyes sparkle and his cheeks grow rounder, that Jordan can’t look away from. "Our James makes a much better brew, mind, but he's already taken."

Milly has been shifting uncomfortably in the corner since they sat down, glancing uneasily at Virgil. He has been on his best behaviour, really, because he hasn’t said anything bad, but he also hasn’t said anything _nice_. Now, though, he seems a little bit more comfortable – adding more quick witted comments about Jordan’s tea making skills, and even laughing at the little jokes Virgil makes.

It makes Jordan feel warm inside, honestly. James is completely at ease now (although not in the way that Robbo is), asking questions about what brought Virgil to Liverpool, does for work, and all that boring, menial stuff, but Virgil answers with a smile, and Jordan’s just grateful that they do actually get on.

He’d never admit it, but he _was_ a little worried.

He volunteers to buy the next round and drags Virgil to the bar with him, saying he needs help carrying the drinks, but it’s really because he wants to check on his boyfriend. “Everything okay?” He asks, smoothing a hand down Virgil’s spine as they wait to be served. “It’s not too much, is it?” 

“No, I’m actually enjoying myself,” Virgil says. He’s got a soft smile on his face, one that Jordan has noticed he reserves just for him, and he bumps their shoulders together. “They’re nice. I really like them. I’m glad you talked me into this.” 

Jordan pauses to give their order to the barman, and then turns back to Virgil, curling his fingers around the muscle of the younger man’s arm. “I’m glad you agreed,” he says quietly, reaching up to kiss Virgil, one little peck while he forces himself to remember that they’re still in public. “It means a lot to me, you know. Thank you.”

Virgil kisses his cheek, taking two of the drinks when the barman slides them across, and Jordan takes the other two, making their way back to the table. The night is still early but things are going so well already, and Jordan’s glad. He hasn’t seen an awful lot of his best friends since he got with Virgil – it’s no one’s fault, not really. Milly and Robbo both know that he’s still in that honeymoon phase, and they’re more than alright with it – but he’s just happy to be able to bring those two parts of his life together, to know that the world won’t end when he does.

“Hendo, I texted you, but you didn’t check your phone,” Milly says as soon as they reach the table. His smile is tight but Jordan doesn’t notice, slipping into his seat and raising his eyebrows at James. “Don’t look now, but–”

“Oh, hi guys!” A voice says from behind Jordan. It’s suspiciously cheerful, fake to the point of sickly, and Jordan would know it anywhere. He feels a shiver travel up his spine, cold and unrelenting, but he doesn’t turn around. “Mind if I join you? Brilliant, thanks.” 

Adam shoves himself into a small gap between James and Andy, dragging a chair from god knows where, and sits. There’s a smile on his face, fake and a little cruel, and his eyes flicker between Jordan and Virgil. He seems detached, almost, and something drops in Jordan’s stomach.

This is the last thing he wanted.

“Who’s this, then?” Adam asks. He rests his chin on his hands and stares straight at Virgil, lips pursed, as if he’s trying to figure it out. As if he doesn’t already know, Jordan thinks, because this is exactly how Adam operates. He’s going to try and make life hell for Jordan – and now, not just Jordan, but Virgil too. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” 

“Adam, this is Virgil, my boyfriend,” Jordan says, trying to smile but failing. It’s the first time he’s said the word out loud but he isn’t really thinking about the consequences, and Virgil slides a hand onto his thigh, a comforting weight, and the chokehold around his lungs loosens from the reassuring presence alone. “Virgil, this is Adam.”

It really doesn’t need any more explanation than that. Jordan has told Virgil all about Adam, their relationship and their break up, and all the things he’s said since. He knows everything, and he knows how Jordan feels about it, so his grip on Jordan’s thigh tightens. He covers Virgil’s hand with his own, a silent thank you.

“ _Boyfriend_ ,” Adam says, like the word leaves a sour taste in his mouth. His voice is hard and he’s grimacing, staring at Jordan like he’s trying to kill him with his eyes – but Jordan wasn’t raised as a quitter, so he glares right back. “You moved on fast.”

Jordan opens his mouth to snap something, but Robbo cuts him off. He’s kind of grateful, because he doesn’t know what to say, and whatever he said would probably be too harsh. “What are you doing here? Who are you with?” Andy asks uneasily. 

“Oh, just some friends from work,” Adam says. He doesn’t pay any mind to Robbo, not looking away from Jordan, and the tension in the air is so thick you could cut it with a knife. James looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. Milly doesn’t do confrontation.

“Won’t they be wondering where you are?” Virgil asks. He's butting into the conversation, and Jordan holds his breath, because he knows that it won't go down well. He's right; Adam's head snaps to the left to stare daggers at him, almost like he forgot he was there, but Virgil just looks as calm as always. Bored, almost.

“I’m sure they can do without me,” Adam says with a smile, but it's more of a smirk and it's definitely cruel. He clenches his fists on the table, and it makes a nervous knot twist in Jordan's stomach. This can never, ever end well. “Especially considering I’ve bumped into such _good_ , old friends.”

"Adz," Milly sighs, clasping Adam's shoulder so he turns to look at him. James's face is deadly serious, frowning slightly, and Jordan knows how much he's probably hating this, but he's grateful for the intervention. He doesn't want to make a scene, and the anger coursing through his veins means he would definitely cause one right now. "I really don't think this is a good idea, mate – you've clearly had a drink and you're not in the right frame of mind. Let's leave it for another day, yeah?"

"Or never," Jordan mutters, just because he can't help himself. Milly shoots him a look and Virgil's hand tightens in his thigh, but he doesn't back down. He's sad, a little bit, that Adam had to come along and ruin the night when it was going so well. He's frustrated too, because all he wanted was one uneventful night, where he could introduce his boyfriend to his best friends, to bring the most important people in his life together, to really, properly, get his relationship with Virgil started.

But then Adam had to come along and fuck it up – just like he does with everything else.

“Thanks for your input, Jord. You’re looking… _healthy_ ,” he says, although the way he says healthy indicates that he doesn’t mean that at all. He’s eyeing Jordan like he’s something on the bottom of his shoe, and Jordan knows that whatever he says next is going to be cruel. “Is the new boyfriend not keeping your sweet tooth in line? Shame, really – all that work I did going to waste.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” James says. He always comes to Jordan’s rescue, forever the perfect best friend, but Jordan doesn’t want that right now. He’s grateful for the support, he really is, but every time someone interrupts this little standoff, Adam’s nostrils flare angrily. 

“Was I talking to you, James?” Adam says. He still doesn’t look away from Jordan, but his eyes are burning now. He’s furious, and it’s all aimed in one direction. “This is between me and my ex, thank you.” 

Jordan opens his mouth to speak, but Virgil beats him to it, fingertips drumming against Jordan’s thigh in what he guesses is supposed to be a calming pattern. “Look, mate –” He starts, but Adam cuts him off by hissing _I’m not your mate_. “This jealousy isn’t a good look. How about you just go back to your friends, and we can all have a good night and forget this ever happened?” 

“And Jordan, god, what a downgrade,” Adam says, ignoring Virgil. He shakes his head as if it’s a damn shame, as if Virgil is somehow _worse_ than him in any sense of the word. Jordan knew he had a fucked up superiority complex, but he didn’t realise it was this bad. “I mean, look at that hair. You hated my long hair, you made me get it cut. But you’ve settled with _that_? Things must be desperate.”

“Just shut the fuck up, Adam,” Jordan snaps tiredly. There’s an awful, bitter taste in his mouth and he can’t help but ask himself why he ever fell in love with Adam. This is a new side to him, one that Jordan has never seen, and he doesn’t understand how he could have spent almost three precious years of his life with him – but he guesses you never really know anyone, not even when they’re the closest person to you. “You’re acting like a child.” 

Virgil doesn’t say anything, but his entire body tenses up, grip on Jordan’s thigh tight enough to hurt and the fingers of his free hand curl into a fist as he lets out a low, deep breath through his nose. He’s holding himself back, for Jordan’s sake, and the older man knows that. He’s glad, almost, because none of this cruelty is actually about Virgil.

“Honestly, Hendo, I really thought you had better taste than this,” Adam continues, oblivious. Or maybe he is aware, and is just ignoring it. The latter seems more likely, even if it is a person that Jordan never thought he was. “Choosing someone who needs you to fight their battles for them? It’s embarrassing.”

He feels awfully naïve. 

It’s hard to imagine that Jordan shared his life with Adam, who was hiding this part of himself for so long. He hates it, feels ashamed that he never noticed it in the first place. Maybe it was always there – and maybe he just chose to ignore it – but no, he would have noticed, surely? It wasn’t exactly like he was _head over heels_ for Adam, and he’s glad he can admit that now.

“Your accent is… Interesting. Where are you from?” Adam asks, this time aiming his furious gaze at Virgil. Virgil seems surprised, eyebrows raised, but he doesn’t back down from the challenge Adam is so obviously offering.

“I’m Dutch.” He says, short and clipped. He’s clearly done being nice, and he purses his lips as Adam continues staring him out. It’s almost like he’s asserting dominance, marking his territory, but it’s pointless now. Any slight, lingering nostalgic feelings Jordan had for him disappeared as soon as he sat at the table uninvited and proceeded to insult Virgil. 

“Oh, wow. I didn’t peg you as the type, Jordan,” Adam says. He’s smirking now and it’s awfully cold – detached, really. It makes a shiver run down Jordan’s spine, bile rising up his throat. He’s _disgusted_ , that’s the only way to describe it. “I thought Brexit was more your style.”

“I’ve had _enough_ ,” Jordan says lowly, but it’s a quiet kind of fury. He can see James and Andy flinch out of the corner of his eye, and Virgil’s hand slips from his thigh when he stands, both fists resting on the table as he leans right into Adam’s space. “You’re a piece of shit, Adam Lallana. If you’re honestly wondering why we split up – why I fell out of love with you, just like that – then maybe you should take a long, hard look in the mirror, because you don’t deserve to be loved. Not by somebody like _me_.”

He storms away from the table, pushing his chair back with a noise that cuts above the loudness of the busy bar, and shoves his way through the groups of people standing about. If he stays, if he looks at Adam’s face a second longer, he knows that he won’t be able to stop himself from– well, punching him, really.

And he’s better than that. He is, he’s a much better person than Adam, and he won’t let him drag him down to his level.

The street is busy but he manages to find a quiet little area around the side of the building, and he rests his forehead against the wall as he takes in deep, ragged breaths. He’s still furious, bubbling under his skin and threatening to burst at any moment, and for a split second he thinks about punching the wall – and pretending it’s Adam’s face – but changes his mind at the last second, knuckles barely grazing the brick.

He’s not going to be that person. He’s _not_.

There are heavy footsteps echoing around the empty sidestreet and he braces himself for impact, shoulders tensing and fingers clenching into fists. “Why the fuck are you following me? Can’t you just get the–” He spits, not bothering to turn around, but he’s cut off when a hand rests between his shoulder blades, warm and big and oh so familiar. “Sorry. Was gearing myself up for another fight.”

He finally turns and Virgil smiles, soft and sad, before pulling him in for a tight hug. “Don’t be,” the younger man murmurs, face buried in Jordan’s hair. He rubs his back soothingly for a few seconds before pulling away, holding Jordan at arm’s length and watching him carefully. “It was rough back there. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he says, but it’s not convincing and Virgil doesn’t believe him, judging by the way he arches an eyebrow. He sighs, shaking the tension out of his body and straightening his spine, offering Virgil a smile. “Honestly, I’m okay. It just made me realise how lucky I am not to have him in my life anymore.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t step in,” Virgil says. He’s frowning, eyes dark and sad, and Jordan hates that look on his face. He doesn’t want to see it ever again – he only wants to see Virgil happy, content, smiling and laughing, because he’s been through enough already. Sadness doesn’t suit him. “He’s right; you shouldn’t have to fight my battles.” 

“No, I’m glad you didn’t say anything,” Jordan says honestly. He could feel how much Virgil was restraining himself in the bar, knows that if it wasn’t for him, Virgil probably would have knocked Adam out in one hit, and he’s almost touched by the gesture. It must have taken a lot. “It’s not your problem – it’s not your fight.”

“Jord,” Virgil says. He sounds exasperated but fond, and he curls his palm around Jordan’s cheek as he looks at him with soft eyes. “If it’s your problem, it’s mine. I fight your fights. We’re a team, yeah? You mean a lot to me, and I’m not going to let you face anything by yourself.” 

Jordan blinks to fight back the tears that are blurring his vision, and he wraps his fingers around Virgil’s wrist as he sways into his body like a magnet. He knows that he should probably say something in response but there’s a lump in his throat and he’s scared of giving away all of the most vulnerable parts of himself. “Come on, take me home,” he whispers instead, voice hoarse.

“I’ll always take you home,” Virgil says with a smile, throwing his arm around Jordan’s shoulders and pulling him tight against his side. He presses a chaste kiss to the older man’s temple, and then starts walking, guiding them back up the street. 

At least, Jordan thinks, that everything with Adam is over. He didn’t realise how miserable he was, trapped in a monotonous relationship and doing the same thing every single day, until he met Virgil. Virgil surprises him every day; his kindness and his thoughtfulness, the little things he does just to make Jordan smile, the way he cares about him, endlessly and no matter how much of a brat he’s being.

Jordan loves him. He loves him so much that it fills his entire body, squeezes tight around his lungs until he can’t breathe, but it’s not a bad thing. It makes him feel alive in a way that nobody else ever before, and he loves Virgil, loves to be with him and talk to him and just… exist in the same space as him.

He wonders, sometimes, if Virgil loves him back. He wonders if Virgil knows how to love him back, if he’d even recognise it if he _did_. The way he loved his best friend wouldn’t be the same as the way he loves Jordan, and even if he did know, would he ever say it? Would he be able to say the words out loud, or would he just keep it to himself, fierce but silent, bubbling under the surface?

He’s decided that it’s okay. As long as Virgil knows how much he’s loved, how much Virgil loves him, then it’s okay if he never says it back. Because the most important thing is Virgil; seeing him laugh and smile and just _be happy_. That’s all Jordan wants. That’s what would make him happy. And, he thinks, as Virgil tucks him against his side, warm and solid and so, so real:

_I love you, and that’s more than enough._

.

Later, when things have calmed down and Jordan doesn’t feel like his stomach is knotted with anxiety anymore, he’s learnt to appreciate what he’s got. Virgil kisses his forehead, his nose, his cheek, and then his mouth, and he feels the tension start to fall away inch by inch.

James texts him. He could have forgotten that other people existed outside of the little bubble he and Virgil had created for himself if it wasn’t for the fact that he could still hear Adam’s voice in his head, but it’s starting to fade a little bit now.

_**Are you okay?** _

_**I saw you and Virgil outside the bar… Maybe he’s not so bad after all.** _

_**Okay, that’s an understatement. He’s really great, Jordan. I’m glad you’ve got him on your side. You’re really, really lucky.** _

_**That’s all I wanted to say. Have a good night x** _

He texts back a simple _thanks, love you x_ , and turns his phone off, leaving it on the bedside table as he heads into the bathroom. He’s quite enjoying their very own bubble right now – it makes him feel safe, warm and content. He doesn’t want to ruin it.

Virgil’s standing at the sink, toothbrush in mouth, but he grins when he sees Jordan. It looks a little bit ridiculous, toothpaste smeared on the corner of his lip and wearing nothing but his boxers and a t-shirt he’d left here the last time he stayed. Jordan’s heart hammers a pretty pattern against his chest, and he squeezes in tight at the sink, knocking elbows with Virgil.

Their eyes meet in the mirror every so often and Virgil smiles, secretive but dazzlingly bright. It’s so domestic that it hurts, but in a way that makes Jordan feel like he’s won the lottery. It never felt like this with Adam. It never felt like this with _anyone_.

Virgil spits out his toothpaste and swills his mouth with water, waiting until Jordan has done the same before curling his fingers around the back of the older man’s neck. They’re still standing side by side, making eye contact in the mirror, and it hits Jordan just how perfect they look together.

“I love you,” Virgil says suddenly, eyes not leaving Jordan’s. He’s still smiling easily, like he doesn’t have a care in the world, although he lets out the breath he seems to have been holding as the words leave his mouth. “I love you, Jordan Henderson.” 

All the oxygen leaves Jordan’s lungs and he’s breathless, dizzy and light headed, as he stares at Virgil with a dropped jaw. He never expected to hear those words at all, let alone this soon, but they’re bouncing around his head and finally starting to sink in, so he turns and throws his arms around Virgil’s neck, grinning up at him.

“I love you too,” he says, laughter bubbling up his throat. He’s deliriously happy right now, wants to cry and shout and tell everyone he knows that Virgil van Dijk loves him, but he settles for leaning up on his tiptoes and kissing him messily. “God, I fucking love you. I really do.” 

He reaches up again and kisses Virgil, hot and deep, although it’s slightly less intense because Virgil can’t stop smiling into it. Still, it’s nice, soft and warm, spreading through Jordan’s veins as Virgil’s hands curl around his waist.

They don’t break the kiss as they move; Virgil’s guiding Jordan back into the bedroom and they’re bumping into door frames, tripping over stray shoes, but neither of them care. If anything, it makes it sexier – they’re laughing, overjoyed and sickeningly in love as Virgil lowers him back onto the bed.

“I’m so glad I met you, Jord,” Virgil murmurs against his lips. He’s hovering over him, leaning on his elbows, but he tugs a hand through Jordan’s hair and stares down at him with dark, serious eyes. “Love you so much.” 

Jordan kisses him, short and sweet, and smiles, hand coming up to frame the side of Virgil’s face. “Getting sick of it already, if I’m honest,” he teases, but he’s lying through his teeth. He doesn’t think he could ever get tired of hearing it. Those three words light him up from the inside out.

Virgil just laughs, breathless and quiet against Jordan’s cheek, and then starts kissing a wet path down his chest. His mouth is hot, teeth sharp, and it makes Jordan feel like he’s on fire, gasping and already half hard as Virgil nudges his nose against his hip bone. “Ik hou van jou,” he whispers, lips brushing soft against the skin of Jordan’s thigh.

And Jordan doesn’t know an awful lot of things, not really – but he does know exactly what that means.

.

Jordan has never understood people who talk about the honeymoon phase.

He’s been with Virgil for exactly a year now, to the day, and he doesn’t think that happiness has faded one bit. Every single day is fresh and exciting, whether they’re both exhausted from work and falling into each other’s arms or going out to explore a new place in the city, and he’s never, ever bored of it.

He falls in love with Virgil a little bit more all the time – especially since he moved in, because he sees parts of him that nobody else gets to. The surprise dinners, the unexpected kisses, all of it; he appreciates it because he knows that Virgil loves him, that he’s secure enough to show it, even though he hasn’t let himself feel like this about anyone else before. It’s nice, being that first person. It’s nice that Virgil chose Jordan.

That’s why he’s making an effort tonight. He’s making Virgil’s favourite meal and he’s put his best suit on, even though they’re not leaving the house. He just wants Virgil to feel even an inch of the same appreciation he does every day.

He knows Virgil is running late because they text each other all day every day - inseparable to the very core - but he doesn't mind waiting. He feels like he's been waiting all of his life to find someone who loves him in the way that Virgil does, and this time, it's his turn. Half an hour won't hurt.

And he's not normally this sappy, either. He counts his lucky stars every day but ultimately, he lives his life with Virgil by his side and just enjoys it. He's not constantly thinking about how much he loves Virgil, promise - it's just that it's a special occasion, and he has decided that he's more than allowed to feel smug about it just this one time. 

Starting on the washing up sounds like a good idea. He was going to leave it for Virgil, because when one of them cooks, the other cleans, but it’s been well over half an hour now and Virgil hasn’t turned up. He hasn’t even called, or texted, just to let Jordan know what’s going on. His phone is screaming nothing but silence at him, and he’s getting sick of checking it every two seconds. At least with his hands in water, he can’t pick it up and stare at a blank screen.

He has to admit he’s getting a little worried. He knows that Virgil is big enough and strong enough to look after himself, let alone entirely capable of it, but it’s still gnawing at his stomach, making him feeling sick. What if Virgil’s hurt? What if he crashed on the way home, somewhere on one of the dark back roads and he can’t call for help? What if he’s waiting for Jordan to come find him, all alone and–

A sharp scream shatters through the dark, quiet night, and Jordan’s heart leaps up into his throat. It was awfully loud despite the fact all the windows are closed, and something deep in his gut tells him that Virgil is involved. That he needs to get there. That he needs to do something, and do it _now_.

He wipes his wet hands on his trousers as he rushes out of the front door, but then he doesn’t know where to go. It’s silent again, but in an eerie way; tense and anticipatory. Something has definitely happened, and he stands still, afraid to move, until he hears noises again.

This time it’s a voice, definitely female and sounding like she’s begging for her life. Jordan can barely work it out through the wet gasps of her breath, and he cringes because he knows she’s bleeding out, but he can’t just stand there and listen. He follows the voice to the alleyway that’s tucked around the side of his house, and now he can hear another voice, one that’s quiet and calm, hushed. It still doesn’t feel right.

He's terrified. He's fucking terrified of what he might find but he's come this far now and he can't back out, so he takes careful, tentative steps until the alleyway is in full view.

He didn't know what he expected to find, but it wasn't _this_.

Virgil is on his knees, next to a woman who's laying on the floor. She's covered in blood, stained on her clothes and pooled around her on the ground, but she's somehow still breathing. Jordan can see the rise and fall of her chest, only partially obscured by Virgil's body. He's got a hand around the back of her head and his wrist to her mouth, and absolutely none of it makes sense, it can't be _real_ , he's imagining things, he must be.

"What the fuck?" He says quietly because he can't stop himself, but it's not quiet enough. Virgil's head snaps up to look at him, eyes wide with fear as he snatches his wrist away. The woman chooses that exact moment to regain consciousness, and Jordan can't stop watching it all unfold.

"What- what's going on? Where am I?" The woman asks. She's confused but seems completely fine, which doesn't make sense considering Jordan has literally just watched her bleed out in front of him. She stares at Virgil with fear in her eyes, not even noticing Jordan standing a few metres away. "Who are you?"

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Virgil says soothingly, placing his hand on the woman’s arm. It’s almost like he’s forgotten about Jordan, but he keeps shooting tiny glances at him like he’s making sure he hasn’t ran off. Jordan doesn’t think he could move if he tried, frozen to the spot. “You’re alright. I just found you, I think you passed out. Do you need me to call an ambulance?” 

She stares up at Virgil, completely calm now, but her eyes are glazed over slightly and she seems spellbound. “No, no,” she says, taking Virgil’s outstretched hand and stumbling to her feet. Her gaze doesn’t even linger on the blood on her clothes, on the floor. She doesn’t have a care in the world. “I’m fine. Thank you, sir. Really, thank you.” 

She shakes Virgil’s hand, grip firm, and then is gone, walking in the opposite direction. Everything about her seems normal – no pain, no staggering – like she’s not just lost at least two pints of blood. There’s absolutely nothing to suggest that she was on the verge of death.

Jordan is too busy staring at her to notice Virgil straightening up, taking two steps towards him with his hands up.

“I can explain,” he says lowly. His eyes are wide and his movements careful, like he’s trying not to scare Jordan off, and it reminds the older man of what exactly is going on here – or, more appropriately, that he doesn’t have a clue that’s going on.

“I should fucking hope so, too,” Jordan spits, laughing bitterly. He’s both furious and terrified in equal measure, making his hands shake and his mouth go dry. Everything that Virgil could say to explain it is running through his head, but still, none of it makes sense. He feels like doesn’t know what’s up and what’s down anymore.

Virgil takes another step closer, hand stretched out like he’s going to touch, but Jordan makes a wounded noise and flinches back. Virgil looks horrified, broken and raw by the movement, but really, could anyone fucking blame Jordan? He’s just seen his boyfriend (if he’s still that… Jordan hasn’t decided yet) somehow miraculously cure a dying woman. 

He turns on his heel, purely so he doesn’t have to look at Virgil, and starts heading back to the house. He doesn’t need to look back to know that Virgil is following him, because the hairs on the back of his neck are standing up from fear and he’s still fighting the urge to run.

He stands to the side to let Virgil into the house and then slams the door behind himself. It shakes on its hinges, but he doesn’t care, leaving Virgil standing in the living room, looking lost and so, so tiny, and heading into the kitchen, filling a pint glass with water and downing it in three sips.

It doesn’t help. His head is still swimming and his eyes still hurt, but he can’t run away from this, he has to face it, so he takes careful steps until he’s in the living room, making sure there’s three metres and the coffee table between them.

“Go on then,” he says, sounding cold and disinterested. He doesn’t recognise this part of himself, detached and cruel. It’s like he’s standing to the side and watching it all unfold. “Let’s hear it; this explanation you keep banging on about.”

Virgil drops to the armchair, burying his face in his hands and blowing out a deep breath. When he looks back up, his eyes are rimmed red and he’s shaking. “Don’t freak out,” he says slowly, not breaking eye contact with Jordan. There’s a heavy pause, but just when Jordan is about to tell him to get on with it, he finally speaks again. “I’m– I’m a vampire, Jordan.” 

“Good one,” Jordan says with a laugh, but it’s humourless. Empty. Numb. The tips of his fingers are tingling but his entire body feels like it’s drenched in something he doesn’t recognise. It’s awful. “What’s really going on?”

“I am a vampire, Jordan,” Virgil repeats. He sounds tired, rubbing the back of his hand across his nose, and he stares down at the floor. His shoulders are hunched like he’s trying to make himself as small as possible. Like he’s trying to shrink down until he doesn’t exist at all. Jordan’s heart would break if it didn’t feel like it was made of stone. 

“They don’t exist, Virgil,” Jordan snaps. His patience is really running thin now, and he wants to grab Virgil by the shoulders and shake him, beg for the truth, for _anything_. He needs to understand. He feels like he’s going crazy. “Do you think I’m fucking stupid?” 

Virgil brings his gaze up from the floor to look at Jordan, eyes desperate and wide, but when Jordan doesn’t budge, he sighs. He looks resigned, awfully sad and apologetic. Then, something happens– something awful, something that Jordan can’t explain, horrifying and heart stopping all at once. Something he never wants to see again.

The whites of Virgil’s eyes bleed into blackness, empty and sickening, and his teeth grow into sharp, sharp points.

“What- what the _fuck_ was that?” Jordan says. His heart is hammering against his chest and he takes a step back without realising it, stumbling and bracing himself against the wall. He doesn’t know who the person sitting in front of him is – doesn’t know if he’s even a _person_. “Virgil, what the fuck is going on!?” 

“I told you,” Virgil mumbles. The words are reluctant, like he’s dragging them up his throat against their will, and he brings his knees up to his chest, curling an arm around his shins. “I’m a vampire.” 

Jordan’s panicking now, gasping in shuddery breaths, and he presses the back of his hand against his mouth to try and stop the bile that’s rising from his stomach. The man he loved, the man he thought he was going to spend the rest of his life with –– Jordan doesn’t even know him anymore. He’s a fucking monster. There’s no other way to describe it.

There’s an awful silence over the room, heavy and making it feel like the walls are closing in on Jordan. He’s trapped and he’s got nowhere to go, feet rooted to the spot and lungs tight. He’s speechless; doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know if there is _anything_ to say.

Virgil looks up and takes in the heartbroken look on Jordan’s face, and he looks so, so sorry. But none of that matters – Jordan doesn’t know if he can trust anything about him right now – and the older man forces back the urge to scream when Virgil stands and takes a step closer.

“No!” He snaps venomously, holding a hand out in front of him. Virgil stops in his tracks, tears glinting in his eyes, but Jordan couldn’t care _less_ about his hurt fucking feelings right now. “Don’t- don’t touch me! Don’t you dare! I don’t want you _anywhere near me_!”

“Jordan, please,” Virgil says. He’s begging, looks like he’s on the verge of dropping to his knees right there, and he’s got an arm stretched out like he wants to touch. Jordan flinches away, and his arm falls back to his side. “Please, I just want to talk about this! I want to explain!” 

“Fuck you,” Jordan spits. He edges towards the door without turning his back, wanting to keep his eyes on Virgil at all times. He doesn’t know what will happen if he leaves himself defenseless. “Fuck you! Don’t follow me!” 

As soon as he’s out of the room, in the hallway and feeling like he can breathe safely again, he sprints up the stairs. He trips once, but daren’t look behind him, too scared of what he might find lurking in the shadows. He has never felt terrified in his own home, but right now, he’s absolutely petrified. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to carry on with this knowledge.

He closes the bedroom door behind him and then slides to the floor, putting all of his weight against the wood. It wouldn’t keep Virgil out if he tried to break in (not if all the things he’s read about vampires are true), but it helps put his mind at ease. Or, at least, as at ease as it possibly can be.

His head is fucked. He feels broken, split in half and raw, because everything he’s known over the past year is a lie. One huge, devastating lie. He doesn’t even know the person he thought was the love of his life, doesn’t know if anything he ever told him was true, doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to get over this.

James was right about Virgil. He should have listened and dodged the bullet while he had the chance.

Why him? Why is it always fucking _him_ , destined to be in awful relationships with awful people – although Adam wasn’t a monster like Virgil has shown himself to be – and what exactly has he done in a previous life to deserve this? He must have been horrible, ruining people’s lives, to deserve this.

He hasn’t ever loved anyone the way he does Virgil. His smile, his laugh, the gentle touch of his hands, and the way he loves Jordan like nobody ever has before. It’s all a lie now, it’s all wasted.

A year of his life thinking he’s found his forever, and it’s all come crashing down around him within seconds.

He’s crying before he even realises it, big tears rolling down his cheeks fiercely, and he tries to wipe them away but they just keep coming and coming and coming. He doesn’t even know if he’s upset, not really – he’s angry, furious and turning his veins black, but upset? Sad for what he’s lost, maybe. But not upset.

There’s nothing but pure silence from downstairs. Not the telltale creak of a sofa moving, or even the slam of the door, so Virgil is still clearly there, unmoving. Jordan doesn’t know if it’s a comfort or not, but he finally feels like he can move, so he stumbles to his feet and breathes through the way his stomach is rolling with nausea.

Two steps one way, two steps the other. He’s pacing, footsteps so heavy he’s almost wearing a hole through the carpet, but the movement is subconscious and the only thing that’s stopping him from breaking down completely. 

It’s not stopping him from thinking, though; his mind is still racing, replaying everything that’s happened over the last half an hour and echoing every word Virgil said, and he wants it to stop, wants silence, wants anything, _anything else_ , over this.

He draws his arm back and punches the wall before he even knows what he’s doing, sharp pain radiating through his hand when his fist connects with the brick, but it doesn’t damage the wall. He wishes it would – wants to pretend it’s Virgil’s face – but all that happens is the skin on his knuckles splitting, blood coming to the surface in tiny beads.

There’s movement now, he can hear that; light footsteps coming up the stairs, getting louder as they come closer, and Jordan freezes. He’s waiting for a knock on the door or the handle to turn, but then the footsteps stop, pausing like Virgil isn’t sure if he’s _allowed_ to check on Jordan.

For some reason, it makes him even angrier. 

He wants Virgil to check on him, for some sick reason. Wants to be the only thing that Virgil is thinking about. A sign that despite it all, he still cares. He’s still willing to drop everything and come running. That he loves Jordan.

And yet, he can’t even do _that_.

He stands there, forehead resting against the wall that he just punched, until the tears have stopped streaming down his cheeks and he’s breathing almost normally again. He just feels numb now, empty and hollow, and he knows that there’s no point in hiding upstairs anymore. He has to face the music.

A part of him is wishing that Virgil won’t be there when he gets downstairs, but he’s not lucky in that respect. The younger man stands when he sees Jordan come into the room, eyes wide, but he keeps his distance.

“I’d never hurt you, Jordan, you have to know that,” he says quickly – quietly. He speaks with such conviction that Jordan almost believes it, and he drops to the sofa, exhausted but as close to the exit as possible. Just in case. “I love you. I love you so much, I’d never put you in danger.”

“Shut up,” Jordan says, closing his eyes briefly. He doesn’t know what Virgil sees when he opens them, but he bites his bottom lip like he’s trying to stop himself from doing anything that Jordan wouldn’t want – which is a lot right now. “Sit down.”

Virgil does as he’s told, taking a seat in the armchair he’d just vacated, but he keeps his eyes on Jordan, gaze careful and weary. An uncomfortable silence covers the room, awkward in a way that it never has been between the two of them, and Jordan _hates_ it. He wishes he didn’t know, wishes he could go back to even three hours ago when things were perfect and he was none the wiser.

It’s a shame that life doesn’t work that way.

“You really are a vampire,” Jordan says. It’s a statement rather than a question, and he just sounds tired now, resigned to the fact that this is somehow true. Virgil nods, glancing down at his hands like he’s ashamed, and picks at his nails. “How long?” 

“107 years,” Virgil says, and the honesty in his voice shocks Jordan. He expected more bullshit, lie after lie after lie, but he’s not getting it. It’s nothing but the truth, but it’s also too little too late, as far as Jordan is concerned. It’s fine to regret lying _after_ the fact, but it should never have happened in the first place.

“Oh my god,” Jordan mutters, rubbing a tired hand over his face. It’s not even a surprise anymore, all this stuff he’s learning. He just wants to know it all and be done with it, although he’s not sure how to react. He’s kind of winging it now. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you just fucking _tell me_?” 

“Because I was scared you’d react like this,” Virgil says. His voice sounds awfully small, and Jordan hates it because somebody as beautiful as Virgil should never try to pretend that they don’t exist. He should be big and loud and brave, making sure that the world appreciates him.

“What else aren’t you telling me?” Jordan asks. The only other option would be to scream _of course I’m reacting like this, what do you fucking expect_ , so this seems like the safest bet. Besides, he feels like he has a right to know.

Virgil’s shoulders shudder briefly and he raises his arm to wipe at his eyes with his sleeve, heaving out a deep, saddened breath. He’s crying, Jordan notes, and something sits heavy in his stomach. He wants to go over, to wrap his arms around Virgil’s shoulders and tell him that everything is going to be okay, but then again, his mother always taught him that lying was wrong. He stays where he is instead.

“We’re soulmates,” Virgil finally murmurs, so quiet that it’s barely audible. Jordan thinks he knows what Virgil just said, but it’s also _fucking ridiculous_ and surely cannot be right, so he raises an eyebrow. When Virgil speaks again, his voice is louder, a little clearer, but still shaky. “We’re soulmates. You’re my soulmate.” 

“Oh, you’re just taking the piss now,” Jordan snaps, laughing bitterly. He would find it funny if it wasn’t for the crushing weight of panic on his chest, making it hard to breathe. The worst thing is that –– he believes it. He must be fucking tapped in the head. “Pull the fucking other one!” 

“I’m serious, Jordan! You are my soulmate!” Virgil says desperately. His hands twist to face palm up where they’re resting on his lap, a clear sign of surrender, but Jordan isn’t accepting it. “Why else do you think I couldn’t stay away from you? I’ve kept my distance from people for a fucking _century_ , but not with you… Never, with you.” 

He looks like he wants to grab Jordan by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, anything just to try and get all this information through, but he stays where he is and curls his fingers into fists. It looks painful, the way he’s digging his nails into his palms, and Jordan can’t stop staring at the way his skin fades into white from the pressure.

Any other time, he’d see it as a sign of life – but now, he’s not so sure.

“Shut up!” He yells when he realises Virgil is still talking (begging, pleading, whatever – it all turns into an awful, constant droning noise). He feels like he’s going crazy, too many thoughts spinning around his head, and he covers his ears with his hands just to try and make it _stop_. “Just shut up, Virgil! I can’t hear myself think!” 

“No, listen to me! I couldn’t stay away from you, but for once, I didn’t even _want_ to! I saw you and I knew exactly who you were, and I couldn’t stop myself!” Virgil says. He stands and his full height should be terrifying, towering over Jordan like that, especially because of what he knows now, but the older man is barely paying attention. He doesn’t have the capacity for anything else right now. Still, Virgil lowers his voice, quiet and vulnerable. “I couldn’t stay away from you, but that didn’t _matter_ , because you’re my soulmate and I thought you’d love me no matter what. Even- even when you found out. But I’m starting to second guess that now.” 

The world stops spinning. Blood stops pumping around Jordan’s veins. His thoughts falter, just for a second, before they start up again, just as loud and twice as angry, because how dare Virgil, how fucking _dare_ he–

“You think I don’t love you?” He asks, voice low. Dangerous. There’s something awful spreading through his body, uncontrollable and animalistic. His skin flashes hot and his gazes focuses entirely on Virgil. “You think I don’t _love you_? You really think I can just turn my feelings off _like that_? Of course I still fucking love you, but you know what? I wish I didn’t! I wish I hated you! I want to fucking hate you, Virgil!” 

Virgil is stunned into silence, horrified and staring at Jordan, and tears have started to roll down his cheeks but he doesn’t make a move to wipe them away. Jordan has never seen him cry before. Not like this. Not the kind of tears that choke you and make your chest burn.

It’s fucking awful.

He makes his escape before he can do something stupid like apologise, stumbling to his feet. His legs have gone numb, blood rushing to his head from pure anger, but he manages to get to the door. When he does, he pauses, one hand on the wooden frame, and he doesn’t look back when he says, “ _don’t_ fucking follow me.” 

He’s never heard himself so cold and cruel. He didn’t know he was capable of it.

.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. He didn’t know if he’d sleep at all, frozen cold with fear and desperately longing for something that never existed at all, but the exhaustion was set deep in his bones. He thinks he fell asleep crying. The tear tracks are still dry on his cheeks, making his skin feel stiff.

When he wakes up, there’s images of black, soulless eyes and dangerous teeth burned into his vision, and his heart is pounding, palms sweating. His suit is in the corner, crumpled from where he took it off and threw it at the wall.

He can’t look at it. It reminds him of what should have been.

Instead, all he got was the worst thing he could have possibly imagined. Well, that’s a ridiculous statement – nobody could ever _imagine_ their partner of a year telling them they’re a fucking _vampire_ – but the point still stands. He should have been celebrating his anniversary; good food and good wine and good sex, waking up in warm and safe in Virgil’s arms, but all he’s got to remind him of the day is the broken pieces of his heart.

He’s running on autopilot, shattered and broken, and his body is only still going by sheer force. The fumes of fumes, really, and he gets dressed methodically, barely thinking as he pulls on his clothes. It’s only afterwards that he realises he’s wearing one of Virgil’s jumpers, but he doesn’t bother getting changed.

Grieving, that’s what this is. Grieving the man he thought he knew, the person he thought was _the one_. Grieving for the life he used to have, and the one he thought he was going to have in the future. He looks down, and notices that the sweatshirt is black.

How fitting, considering he’s mourning, attending the funeral of everything he thought he knew.

He heads down the stairs, needing to get out of the house, to go anywhere, to see anything but the same four walls – to see anyone but Virgil, if he’s being honest. He’s got his key in the lock, about to turn it and escape, when he can hear Virgil shift behind him.

For some reason, he hesitates. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, if it’s a big, sappy reunion or another screaming match, but he braces himself for either. Shoulders tense, chest puffed out. Fight or flight.

“Jordan,” Virgil says, voice soft. Jordan turns around and sees Virgil standing in the open doorway between the living room and the hall, large frame filling the space, but he still somehow looks tiny. His eyes are bloodshot and his mouth is turned down at the corners, and Jordan knows immediately that he hasn’t slept a wink. Probably waiting for him to come down, expecting the same things. Fight or flight. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” Jordan says shortly, averting his gaze and staring at a small stain on the carpet. He can’t quite bring himself to meet Virgil’s eyes, because he’s not sure what he’ll find if he does. He still can’t stop himself from being painfully honest, though. “Anywhere but here.” 

“I’m sorry,” Virgil says quietly. He’s trying his hardest to force eye contact with Jordan, but it’s not working. He can’t let himself be dragged into that trap, not after the severity of the situation. He feels split in half, torn between wanting desperately to go back to what they had before and wanting to stay angry. He doesn’t know which side of him would win if he let them fight it out. “You shouldn’t– I should go, Jordan. You shouldn’t have to leave because of me. I should go. Do you want me to leave?” 

The words are a mess, tripping over themselves in a haste to get out of Virgil’s mouth, and it takes Jordan’s exhausted brain a few minutes to catch up and untangle it all. “No. You can stay,” he says tiredly, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. “This is your home, too. You have as much of a right to be here as I do.” 

The relief that washes over Virgil’s body is palpable, and Jordan can feel it even with a good ten yards of space between them. He hates the way his heart twists in his chest, but it only does because his traitorous mind is telling him that Virgil’s never had a home before. This is the only one he’s ever known. He wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to hate Virgil, but he physically _can’t_. “Thank y–”

“Shut up, Virgil. I really don’t want to hear it,” Jordan says. He grabs a coat off the hook just so he has something to do with his hands, and then finally unlocks the door, pulling it open and trying not to shiver when the cold morning air hits his face. “Don’t wait up.”

And with that, he’s gone, swallowing down the lump in his throat when he thinks of what he’s left behind.

.

He doesn’t think about where he’s going. It’s still early; the rush hour traffic is loud and busy men in suits push past him as he walks slowly, letting his feet carry him wherever they may go. People look at him strangely, and he knows that he looks awful, but he doesn’t pay any attention.

It’s all mindless, numb and empty, and he doesn’t realise where he is until he’s banging on the door repeatedly, fist smacking against heavy wood for five long minutes until it finally opens. Carol looks pissed off, at first, and then her face twists into something terribly concerned.

“Jordan?” She asks quietly, but she doesn’t open the door fully and she doesn’t let him in. She reaches out though, fingers gentle on his bicep. The touch is so loving that his throat feels tight and tears sting at his eyes. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” 

“I just really, really need a drink, Carol,” he says, voice thick and gaze watery. He pushes past her and into the pub, stopping and taking a deep breath. The scent of the place is so familiar that he almost feels normal again. Almost, if it wasn’t for the awful ache in his chest. “Please can I have a drink.”

It’s not a question, because he doesn’t think he’s going to take no for an answer, and his voice is flat. Emotionless. He takes a seat at the bar and watches Carol as she rounds the counter, standing opposite him with her hands on her hips.

“Do you know what time it is, Jordan? We’re not open yet,” she says, sounding tired – and, pissed off again. There’s a furrow between her eyebrows and it feels a lot like disappointment. Jordan hates it, hates it so fucking much, and he shrinks under the weight of her gaze. “I can’t serve you, son. I could lose my license.” 

“You can charge me later, then. I’ll probably be here all day anyway,” he says dismissively, trying (and failing) to ignore the look on Carol’s face. She probably hates him, he thinks, turning up here before long opening hours and looking like he’s been knocking on death’s door all night. He wouldn’t blame her if she did. His voice is desperate when he speaks again, clawing at his skin as tears blur his vision. “Please, Carol, please – call it a drink with an old friend. I just _need_ someone.”

“Oh, Jordan,” she sighs, but she deflates visibly and reaches behind her for a bottle of whiskey. She pours measures into two glasses and doesn’t bother putting the bottle back, instead walking around the bar to sit next to him, one hand between his shoulder blades comfortingly. “What’s going on? What’s happened? Please talk to me, I hate seeing you like this.”

“I had a fight with Virgil – my boyfriend, you know,” Jordan says vaguely, staring sadly into the bottom of his glass. Carol knows who Virgil is, obviously, because they’ve been in for lunch and drinks and whatever else a few times over the past twelve months, but saying the word still gives Jordan the same rush it always does. He wishes it didn’t. “That’s a bit of an understatement, actually. I don’t even know if I can still call him my boyfriend.”

“That bad?” She asks, half a wince on her face. He hates the sympathy, hates it so much it makes him feel sick. He knows he came here for the pity party, but now he’s starting to regret it, especially when Carol puts an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in for a half hug. “What about?” 

“Turns out he’s been lying to me for the entire year. The entire of our relationship,” he says through gritted teeth. He grins at her, but it’s bitter and false, bile rising at the back of his throat. He washes it down by drinking the entire glass of whiskey in one go, and Carol refills it immediately. “I really wish I could tell you, Carol, but I can’t. It’s not my place. It’s not my secret to tell, and I _hate_ it, because for some fucked up reason, I still want to be loyal to him. Loyal. Can you imagine that?” 

“Of course you do, Jordan. You thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with him,” Carol says gently. Her hand moves in small, soothing circles on his back, but it makes his skin burn, because it’s not the touch he wants. “I won’t pry, but is it bad enough that it’s a deal breaker? Is it worth ending your relationship? Because you clearly love him.”

“Of course I love him,” Jordan says tiredly, feeling the sting of tears starting to threaten. He wipes his hands harshly over his eyes and stares resolutely at the dark wood in front of him, because he knows that if he looks at Carol, he's going to break down. "Anyone else would leave him. Anyone with half a brain would be gone and would never look back, but I just feel like there's something that's keeping me here. I want to leave him, I do. I really do. But I love him so much that I feel like there's a weight keeping me in place. I have to stay - but how am I supposed to do that when I feel sick every time I look at him?"

“Oh, Jordan,” Carol sighs, finally giving up the ghost and pulling him in for a hug. He hides his face in her neck and breathes in the sweet, flowery scent of her perfume, and it reminds him of home; of his mum, somewhere safe when he was a small boy, bleeding from a graze on his knee and soaking in all the comfort she was willing to offer.

When she pulls back, they both pretend that he wasn’t crying.

She glances at the clock and Jordan follows the line of her gaze. It’s five to twelve already, and Carol will be opening up soon, and the lunchtime rush will be taking all her attention. He’s jealous of them, all these people that are just out for drinks and food with their colleagues and friends and lovers. He resents them for having what he doesn’t, for taking away the space in a woman that he tried to carve just for himself.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need – on the house,” Carol says, nodding towards the bottle of whiskey next to his hand. It’s still two-thirds full, but he intends to make light work of it soon. “But for what it’s worth, Jordan: that boy loves you. I could see it from the second you stepped in here last year, when you were arguing. He saw you, and his face lit up, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. He cares for you an awful lot, and that’s a once in a lifetime kind of thing. Do you really think it’s worth throwing a love like that away?” 

Jordan feels sick suddenly, eyes straying over to the table in the corner where he saw Virgil for the second time. When the younger man tried to run, but Jordan followed. To the place where it all started, really, even if Jordan didn’t know it at the time.

He almost wishes he could travel back in time and not follow Virgil.

He knows he came here for a reason. That this was the place that his feet instinctively brought him to, even without his brain cooperating. He knows why and he knows it’s not because of Carol, because despite the fact she makes him feel safe, she isn’t what he really wants. He came here because he wanted to remember Virgil, the good times, who they were _before_. 

He just doesn’t know if he can go home and face what they are _now_.

.

He’s not drunk when he gets home.

Well, he can still feel it; the alcohol is making him feel much colder than normal and his mind is fuzzy at the edges, but he knows what he’s doing. He can think coherently, and he can put one foot in front of the other in a straight line, so that’s fine. He’s more than ready to take on whatever is waiting for him at home – physically, at least. Emotionally, he’s not so sure.

He left the pub long before the evening rush piled in, giving Carol a clumsy hug and a tearful thank you, and she’d kissed his cheek and made him promise to call her. It was nice, knowing that he had someone who loved him unconditionally. Someone who still cared even after he barged into their home and demanded attention.

It’s still gone eleven by the time he gets back to the house though. After he’d left, he’d wandered around the city for a bit, coat tight against his body and the sleeves of Virgil’s jumper pulled low over his knuckles to try and fight the chill. He’d walked past the club where they first met. It was closed, but he paused, right opposite the spot where Virgil had shoved him against the wall and kissed him. If he stared at the brickwork hard enough, he could see the ghost of them, each touch hesitant and new and not knowing where it was going to lead.

He walked along the Mersey, head dropped low and hands in his pockets. Saw Virgil’s smile when he first spotted him walking along the docks, the flush on his cheeks when he admitted that he didn’t know how dates are supposed to go. The way his words were sweet like honey when he said _I don’t think I've ever felt the way I feel about you_. How his mouth tasted when he kissed Jordan like he was the only person in the world.

It got unbearable, after a while. It felt like everywhere he turned, he could see Virgil-and-Jordan-Jordan-and-Virgil, like an out of body experience, living out a day in the life of a lifetime ago. He missed it, to put it simply. When things were easier and he thought he knew the man he was building a relationship with.

Somehow, he manages not to think about it. He walks home – which was a terrible idea, really, and he’d only realised that when he was twenty minutes in and still had an hour to go – but the fresh air helps to clear his mind. There are tears on his cheeks the whole way, slow and steady, but he keeps his head held high and tries to ignore all the concerned looks strangers are throwing his way.

The fear hits him when he’s got his key in the lock. He doesn’t think he’s scared of Virgil anymore, because deep down, he knows that Virgil is the same man he always has been. The lie was massive, of course, but the past twelve months haven’t changed because of it. Jordan just looks at him a little differently now.

No, he’s scared of what else he’s going to find out. There are a million questions running through his head and he wants all of the answers, but it’s _so much_. He’s been trying to sort them, to list them in order of importance, but they all seemed pretty important, really, and then he was just overwhelmed. He doesn’t even know where to start.

He hasn’t even managed to pick up the pieces of his broken heart yet.

“Jord,” Virgil breathes, sounding more relieved than he really has the right to be. He stands as soon as he sees Jordan walk in the front door, eyes rimmed red and lips bitten rough to the point that they must be sore, but Jordan can’t really look past the nickname. It makes rage flash through his veins, hot and burning. “I was worried about you. Where have you been?” 

“I told you not to wait up for me,” Jordan says, even though it’s barely gone nine. He takes his time hanging his coat up and toeing off his shoes, staring anywhere but Virgil’s face. The wall, his hands, a loose thread on the t-shirt Virgil is wearing. Anywhere else. “Doesn’t matter where I’ve been. We need to talk.” 

Virgil nods but doesn’t say a word, and Jordan pushes past him and into the living room. He sits in the armchair furthest away from Virgil, knees pulled up to his chest, and levels his gaze on the younger man. He’s weighing his words, not sure where to even start, but one thing has been playing on his mind all day.

“You never told me what happened with that woman,” he blurts out suddenly, unable to stop the words. Virgil looks up in surprise from where he’s sat on the couch, like that’s the last thing he expected Jordan to ask about. Jordan is surprised, too. “One minute she looked like she was about to die, and then she was just… fine. She lost _so much blood_ , Virgil. I don’t get it. What did you do? Did you- did you turn her into a…” 

He trails off, can’t quite bring himself to say the word.

“ _No_ ,” Virgil spits venomously, and the ferocity in his voice makes Jordan flinch away slightly. The lines around Virgil’s eyes soften when he notices, and he places his hands palm up on his knees like he’s drawing the battle lines. “No, Jordan, I didn’t. I promise you now, I would never, _ever_ turn anyone, okay? I hated it when it happened to me. I’ve learnt to live with it now, but it took me a long, long time, and I still hate the vampire that turned me. So no, I didn’t turn her. And you don’t have to worry about me turning _you_ , either.” 

“Okay,” Jordan says, but it sounds awfully small. That’s been one of the things that’s playing on his mind, but he’d tried not to think about it. He was convinced he knew Virgil enough to know that he wouldn’t, but he also thought he knew him wholly, completely, entirely before, so… Still. He believes Virgil; the honesty puts him at ease. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Virgil says, staring down at his hands. His shoulders are hunched, like he wants the ground to swallow him whole, like he’d rather be anywhere else, but if Jordan has to fucking suffer in the knowledge of everything he’s learned over the past thirty-six hours, then so does Virgil. “My blood heals people. Obviously, it’s not like – proper blood. Not like a human’s. But if someone is seriously injured or dying, then I can just… Heal them. I don’t know how it works, and I don’t _want_ to.”

He shakes his head, glancing up at Jordan from underneath his lashes, and the older man can’t take his eyes off of him. He looks lost, frankly, and Jordan knows it’s because he’s never had to explain this to anyone before, but he can’t feel as lost as Jordan feels.

“Why her?” He asks. He can’t quite marry the two thoughts that Virgil is a vampire, but at the same time, he’s a good person. That the man sitting in front of Jordan, the one who feels like a stranger, could still have enough compassion to heal someone he doesn’t know. Just because he can. Because he wants to.

Really, it goes against everything he knows about vampires (which is – admittedly, limited).

“Because she begged me,” Virgil says simply. Something flashes across his eyes, hollow and haunted, like he’s reliving it again, and he curls his fingers into fists as he lowers his gaze again. Jordan’s grateful, because he doesn’t know if he can handle the expression on his face right now. “I think- she’d been mugged. They stabbed her. She’d already been there a while when I found her, you know? The blood- there was so much blood, Jordan. She was crying and she wouldn’t calm down and she kept saying _please, please, I can’t die_. I couldn’t just leave her there, could I? You know me, Jordan. You know I wouldn’t.” 

Something settles under Jordan’s skin, furious and burning hot. His vision fades to white at the edges, and he knows he’s only thinking about himself, but he can barely think straight. “So you risked everything by doing it?” He asks, voice low and dangerous. His hands are shaking and he doesn’t know how to make them stop. “Anyone could have seen you, Virgil! Anyone but _me_ could have walked past, and then what? What do you tell them?”

“I don’t know! I wasn’t thinking about that!” Virgil snaps. It’s the first time he’s raised his voice at Jordan, and it hits him like a punch to the chest. He recoils back, hugging his knees to his body like he’s trying to protect himself, but he doesn’t know what he’s protecting himself from. “She had _kids_ , Jord. She kept saying that she had three girls at home, waiting for her, and I couldn’t leave them without their mother. I did what I had to, and I had to do it.”

He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself that it was the right thing, but it just makes Jordan even angrier, hot in his veins and making him dizzy. Tears blur his vision, and he swallows around the lump in his throat. 

“I could have lost you,” he says quietly, not thinking about the words that are coming out of his mouth. They’re intrinsic, honest, and he can’t stop them. “Someone could have found you, and realised what you are, and I would have _lost you_. How fucking _selfish_ of you – I wish I’d never even met you, sometimes.” 

“I was being selfish?” Virgil asks, laughing humorlessly. He looks at Jordan with a level stare, eyes empty and mouth a thin line. He looks like he’s reached the end of his patience, dark smudges under his eyes and skin pale. “Maybe you should just _make up your mind_. Decide what you want, Jordan, because you either want me, or you don’t. You can’t push me away like this and then call me selfish because I risked being found out. It’s a simple enough decision: do you want to be with me? Or do you want me out of your life?” 

“Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jordan hisses, getting to his feet like a flash. His heart feels heavy, mind spinning, and he knows that Virgil is right. He can’t keep pulling him along like this, keeping him to one side because he knows he’ll come running at the drop of a hat, but he can’t bear to be close to him. The thought of Virgil touching him makes his stomach roll with waves of nausea. “You have no idea what’s going on in my head, Virgil, so stop pretending you do.” 

“You’re right,” Virgil says, and he sounds so tired that it makes Jordan think twice. He’s not sure he’s stopped to consider how Virgil is feeling about all of this – he mostly expected him to just be worried about his own safety, now that his secret is out in the open – and frankly, he’s not sure he wants to know. “But just think about this – about me, for once: I'm not a monster, Jordan, I'm not. You know me. You know who I am, and that hasn't changed just because of what I told you. I still like your roast dinners the best. I still love falling asleep in the garden with you on a warm evening. I still want to be around you, and listen to your voice, and touch you all the time. I still love you, and you knowing doesn't change that."

"It changes everything,” he spits, storming past Virgil, who doesn’t try to stop him. He stops at the bottom of the stairs and looks back into the living room, but he can only see the side of Virgil’s face; the sweep of his eyelashes and downturned corners of his mouth. “Because you've been lying to me for the past twelve months. I sure as hell don't know who you are, and I don't even know if _you_ know who you are."

.

_He fists his fingers in the sheets. They’re impossibly soft, sliding against his palms like silk, but he still manages to get a tight grip. He twists his back, arching his shoulders just to feel them brush against his skin, but two hands wrap around his wrists and stretch his arms above his head._

_He’s pinned down, laid bare and defenceless. Eyes closed and mouth open, breath hitching on a gasp, and his heart is pounding a bruise against his rib cage, but he’s not scared. He feels safe in the vulnerability. He knows he’s going to be taken care of, because the grip on his wrists is gentle, loose enough that he could break free if he wanted to._

_There’s a fire in his belly, hot and smouldering, smoke curling in his lungs when he turns his head to the side and brushes his nose against soft skin on the inside of an arm. Feels sparks, everywhere, from the soles of his feet to the tips of his fingers, and even the bed sheets feel like they’re dragging now, friction from the need for more, any way he can get it, anywhere,_ anything _–_

_He opens his eyes slowly, lashes fluttering against his cheeks like he’s waking up lazily in the morning sun, and he breathes in deeply like he’s tasting fresh air for the first time. Virgil is above him; the whites of his eyes have faded to black, bottomless and glinting in the moonlight, and he’s staring down at Jordan like he wants to devour him._

_His smile is dangerous but still kind, teeth shockingly white against the dark night, and he leans ever so closer. Jordan is caught in a web, he’s the fly and Virgil is the spider, waitingwaiting_ waiting _, but nothing happens. Virgil doesn’t move, like he’s waiting for something. The stillness makes him even less human._

_Jordan pulls one of his wrists free, the right one, moving on autopilot like he’s trapped under a siren’s spell, and he fits his palm around the curve of Virgil’s cheek. His skin is warm and it shouldn’t be, it_ shouldn’t _, because he’s not a breathing, living creature, but he feels like it. Under Jordan’s palm, he’s as real as the sky is blue and the earth orbits the sun._

_Virgil finally moves, tilts his forehead against Jordan’s and then closes the gap between their mouths. The kiss is barely a kiss: it’s a brush of skin, the sharpness of Virgil’s not human at all teeth catching against the corner of Jordan’s bottom lip, and he shudders, surging up, knowing what he wants and he’s going to get it and he’s_ taking it _––_

He wakes with a start, heart hammering in his chest and gasping in breaths like he’s being starved of oxygen. He curls his fingers into the sheets and they’re not silky – it’s just the soft deep purple set that Virgil insisted on buying when he moved in, nicer than Jordan himself would ever buy. 

They smell like Virgil now, embedded between each stitch of the fabric, and he buries his face in them, until the scent is tattooed into his lungs.

The next thing he notices is that Virgil’s side of the bed is cold. It’s not that he forgot, or anything – he knew as soon as he woke up that Virgil was downstairs and he was alone, but the dream was so vivid that it felt like it could be real. He can still feel the sparks on his skin where Virgil kissed him, and the bruises on his wrists where Virgil held him down, but if he concentrates hard enough, he can hear Virgil’s steady breathing from the floor below, bouncing off the bare walls and echoing through the empty rooms.

He knows he should be scared. Dreaming about Virgil’s face like that, his eyes and his smirk and everything else, he should be ready to run for his life, but there’s something different about it. It’s settled deep in his chest, burrowing under his skin until he feels nothing but _warmsafeloved_.

He knows that Virgil would never hurt him. He knows that more than he even knows himself.

And when he slips his hand in his shorts and curls his hand around his hard dick, breath stuttering on a whine, it doesn’t scare him that he’s getting off to the thought of the sting of Virgil’s teeth or how his eyes were so dark but so full of life, either. 

.

It was _such_ a good idea to ask James and Robbo if they wanted to go for a drink. Really, it’s just what Jordan needs, and what better company could he possibly ever find? They’re his best friends in the entire world, and he loves them. Plus, the rum tastes _incredible_ , and when he says this, all he gets in return is a quiet snicker and a steadying arm around his waist.

“I think you’ve had more than enough, Hendo,” James says. Jordan is trying to order another drink, but the bartender isn’t even _looking_ at him. Instead, he’s staring at James, who thinks Jordan won’t notice the cut throat gestures he’s making. Honestly, he might be drunk, but he’s not that drunk. “We’d better get you home. Virgil will be wondering where you are.” 

Jordan laughs, but it’s cold and humourless. James doesn’t seem to notice, just hoists him up from the barstool and steadies him on his feet. “Virgil won’t be sitting at home worrying himself sick, trust me,” he mutters darkly, and _that_ gets Milly’s attention. “He won’t give a flying fuck.”

“Have you had an argument?” Robbo asks from behind them as James starts to lead them out of the bar. Jordan has an arm slung around his shoulders but the warmth of his body isn’t enough to keep the bitter night air from hitting his skin, and his teeth start chattering. He’s not wearing his coat, doesn’t remember putting it down and definitely doesn’t remember picking it up, where is it, where the fuck– “Here. Jesus Christ, Hendo.”

Robbo sounds exhausted, concerned, really, as he wrestles Jordan’s arms into his jacket sleeves, and Jordan starts to feel sick with guilt. He knows he hasn’t been himself lately, and he definitely hasn’t been a good friend, but he can’t tell them, can he? He can’t just spill his guts and say that actually, his head has been all over the place because his boyfriend is a _vampire_.

But he can tell them some things, he decides. He can be honest without actually saying anything at all.

“Yes,” he admits mournfully. Every sorry little moment is flashing through his head, and he’s fallen back into that dark, dark place where he feels like he doesn’t know anything at all. Does Virgil love him? Is he even who he says he is? Is this really worth all of the pain, even if they are, as Virgil says, soulmates? Is this how it’s going to be from now on? The best it’s going to get? He doesn’t know if he can carry on living his life like this. “I don’t know if we’re going to survive this, Andy. I love him and I want to be with him, but we haven’t even so much as _looked_ at each other for weeks.”

“What did you argue about?” James asks, propping Jordan up against a wall as he tries to flag a taxi down. It’s cold, so cold; Jordan’s fingers and toes and his heart. He almost feels dead inside. He makes a mental note to ask Virgil what that feels like. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, pulling his coat tighter around his body. He wipes his nose on his sleeve like he’s trying to stop the tears before they start falling, but he won’t let them. He’s determined not to cry. He can’t ruin tonight, not properly, he won’t. “It doesn’t matter what we argued about. It’s inconsequential.”

“Oh, Hendo,” James sighs. A taxi pulls up and he opens the door, hand on the back of Jordan’s head to coax him onto the back seats, and then slides in beside him. Robbo is on the other side of him and he’s sandwiched between them. Supported, that’s what he is right now, in more ways than one. “Of course it matters. Please tell us, we can help–”

“Don’t make me talk about it, James, please,” he says, cutting Milly off. He’s on the verge of tears now, lump in his throat choking him and fingers shaking but not from the cold, and he stares down at his hands in his lap when he accidentally makes eye contact with the taxi driver in the rear view mirror. “I can’t talk about it. I can’t. I can’t handle it.” 

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” James says soothingly, rubbing a calming pattern on Jordan’s back. He sounds apologetic, and Jordan knows he’s having a silent conversation with Robbo over the top of his head, but he can’t quite bring himself to care. “It can’t be broken, Hendo. You two love each other so much, nothing can be unfixable between you.”

“Can’t take back the things I said, can I,” Jordan says emotionlessly. He glances up at James from beneath his lashes, and his best friend is just staring at him with a pitying look on his face. It makes his skin crawl. “I told him I wanted to hate him. I told him I wish I’d never met him. I can’t take that back. He must hate me, James.” 

Milly sucks in a deep breath, shocked, but Jordan doesn’t understand why he’s surprised. They’ve been best friends for long enough now, seen each other at the worst of times; he must know how Jordan lashes out when he’s hurt. God knows he’s been on the receiving end of it before. “It’s just words, Hendo. He knows you don’t mean it.”

“But I _did_ mean it,” Jordan insists. James is still talking, telling him that it doesn’t matter, but he’s not listening. That’s all Jordan wants – someone to listen. Someone to tell. Because he hasn’t told a fucking soul, and it’s eating him up inside. “James, listen to me! I meant it, okay? I meant every word I said! I’m sick of this- this _relationship_ , and I don’t know what to _do_ anymore!”

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until James pulls him into a hug, tight and suffocating, but it’s just what he needs. He buries his face into Milly’s chest, curls his fingers into the back of his shirt, and just lets himself sob.

“You know what you’re going to do?” James says firmly. He gets his hand on the back of Jordan’s neck and then pulls him back, until they’re making eye contact and Jordan has nowhere to hide. His face is serious, mouth a thin line, but beneath it all, he’s still so _caring_. “You’re going to go home, sober up, and then get a good night’s sleep. And tomorrow, when you’re feeling better, you’re going to talk to Virgil, okay? Because I know you, Jordan Henderson, and I know that you haven’t actually talked it out. That’s what you’re going to do, and if you’ve not sorted it – one way or another – by the next time I see you, I won’t be very happy.” 

“Okay,” Jordan whispers, wiping the heels of his hands roughly across his cheeks. It hurts, just a little bit, but it also grounds him, and he needs that right now. He needs people like James and Andy to keep him sane. “Okay, I promise.” 

“Good,” James says. He smiles calmly, clapping Jordan on the shoulder once, and then pulls him in for another hug, this time a lot more gentle. “Listen, Jordan – I know I wasn’t sure about Virgil at first, but I _do_ know that he loves you. And you love him, don’t you?” 

“It’s pretty gross, actually,” Andy interjects mildly, ruffling Jordan’s hair. “I mean, Rachel is always going on about the way Virgil looks at you. She doesn’t think I’m as romantic as him.” 

“Exactly,” James says. The taxi pulls up just outside of Jordan’s house, and he lets Milly half drag him out, arm still around his waist to prop him up even though he doesn’t need it anymore. He doesn’t know which one of them it’s comforting most. “If anyone can get through a rough patch, it’s you two. I don’t think I’ve ever met a couple so into each other before, so you’ve got to at least try to fix this.” 

“I will,” Jordan mumbles. He sways on his feet when Milly retracts his arm to knock on the door, and realises that he’s maybe a little bit more drunk than he thought he was. Drunk and full of dread – what a great combination. “Thank you, James Milner. You’re a great friend.” 

James just smiles at him, and then the door is opening. Virgil is standing there, the light from the hallway spilling out onto the porch and making him look like there’s a halo around him. Virgil, an angel. How fucking ironic. “I think this belongs to you,” James says gently. 

Virgil grins, but it’s tight and not at all real. “Thanks for bringing him home in one piece,” he says, reaching out and closing his palm around Jordan’s elbow. Jordan snatches his arm back like he’s been burned, looking up at Virgil with wide eyes that he knows must be filled with fear, and the younger man curls in on himself, hurt flashing across his face. “Hope you all had a good night.” 

“Yeah, wasn’t too bad,” James says awkwardly, and then his hand is on Jordan’s back, shoving him through the doorway and into the house. He doesn’t have a choice in the matter, can’t stop himself when he stumbles into Virgil’s body, and this time doesn’t pull away when Virgil’s hands come up to steady him. “I’m going to leave you two to it. Seems like you’ve got a lot to talk about.” 

The door shuts behind him with a bang that echoes through the house, and the silence between Jordan and Virgil is suffocating. Jordan doesn’t know where to look, gaze flitting from the wall, to an uneven floorboard on the stairs, to Virgil’s face. He looks tired, mouth twisted downwards and eyelids heavy like he’s struggling to keep himself awake. 

“Where have you been?” He asks suddenly, snapping through the tension between them. He sounds angry, almost – definitely accusatory – and Jordan curls his fingers into fists, ready for the fight that’s bound to come. “I was worried sick.” 

“I told you,” Jordan says, trying to keep himself calm. He’s not sure it’s working. “I went for a few drinks with James and Andy. I am allowed to do that, right? Or do I have to ask your permission first.” 

“What? When have I ever tried to control you,” Virgil says. It’s not a question, but more of a bewildered statement, and he’s staring at Jordan with wide, confused eyes, like he’s trying to find something on the older man’s face. Whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t get it, because he deflates, leaning back against the wall. “It’s almost four in the morning, Jordan. I’ve been waiting up for you; I tried to call you _six times_.” 

“Phone died,” Jordan says casually, waving it in front of Virgil’s face like he has to prove it. There’s a lump in his throat from the thought of Virgil sat in the dark, phone in hand and desperately dialling Jordan’s number, flinching at every little sound. “Didn’t think you’d care, anyway.”<

“ _You didn’t think_ – Of course I care, Jordan,” Virgil snaps, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. There’s a wet glint in his eyes, Jordan thinks, heart cracking in his chest when he realises he’s made his boyfriend cry. Then, he levels his gaze on Jordan, and doesn’t hide anything when he says, “I just wish you’d talk to me more. That’s all.” 

“I don’t wanna talk about this now – I’m too drunk,” Jordan mutters. Always ready with an excuse, and he knows it, but he can’t seem to stop himself. The thought of talking everything through makes his chest feel tight with panic. “I’m going to bed.” 

He turns on his heel and starts up the stairs, but he’s only on the third step when he trips, foot catching on the edge of it. He lands with a thud, on his hands and knees, and the friction of the carpet burns against his palms. It’s not the pain that makes tears well in his eyes, nor the embarrassment, but they’re definitely a trigger, and he tries to stop his shoulders shaking as he finds the strength to move. 

“Jesus Christ, Jord,” Virgil breathes, but his voice is soft and gentle. He curves his left hand around the ball of Jordan’s shoulder and the fingers of his other hand close around his forearm, helping him to his feet. “Come on. You need to sleep this off.”

He’s so careful as he guides Jordan up the stairs, pulling him tight against his body and whispering soothing words every time he stumbles. Despite every single awful thing Jordan has said to him, he still cares. He still loves Jordan. 

__The tears are still streaming steadily down Jordan’s cheeks but he’s barely paying any attention to them anymore, too busy staring at Virgil’s face in wonder. Of course Jordan still loves him, of course he fucking does. What’s more surprising is the fact that Virgil still loves _him_ – the fact that he ever loved him in the first place._ _

__“Stay here,” Virgil says, gently lowering Jordan until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. He pulls his hands away completely, and the lack of body heat makes Jordan shiver. He can’t stop himself from making a small noise of protest when Virgil turns his back on him, and the younger man hears it. “It’s okay; I’m just getting you some pyjamas.”_ _

__“Thank you,” Jordan says, somehow managing to force the words out through the lump in his throat. He sets the clothes aside on the bed as soon as Virgil hands him them, and then staggers to his feet, clinging onto Virgil’s biceps like a lifeline. He knows he sounds confused, heartbroken, overwhelmed, when he asks, “why are you doing this?”_ _

__Virgil smiles at him, something that Jordan assumes is meant to be reassuring, but instead it just looks- sad. That’s the only word for it. “You know why,” Virgil says quietly. He’s facing Jordan but not looking at him, gaze focused on a far spot on the wall behind Jordan’s head. “You know why I’m doing this, Jordan. You’ve always known.”_ _

__“I just– I _miss_ you,” Jordan says. He ducks his head to try and force Virgil to look at him, but he refuses to meet his gaze. He’s frozen still, and the only thing Jordan can feel is his harsh breaths against his cheek. “I want things to go back to how they were before, Virgil. I miss you. I miss _us_.” _ _

__“And whose fault is that?” Virgil asks, but it’s not unkind. His voice is quiet and small, and he probably wasn’t planning on hurting Jordan like this – but if he did, he’s succeeded. Jordan feels his heart drop into his stomach, fizzing in acid until it burns. “You’ve been pushing me away for weeks. You ask for honesty, and then when I give you it, you decide you don’t want it anymore. You won’t let me touch you, but then you call me selfish for risking outing myself. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going, Jordan, I just don’t–”_ _

__Jordan decides he can’t listen anymore. He feels sick with guilt, feels awful for dragging Virgil into his own fucked up feelings, and he knows he should have just left when he had the chance, only for a little bit, just to sort his head out and then come back, but he couldn’t, he was selfish, he couldn’t just _leave_ Virgil behind, and he can’t listen to this anymore he can’t he can’t he can’t–_ _

__He leans up on his tiptoes and fits his mouth against Virgil’s._ _

__Every single cell in his body is singing; it’s been far too long and he’s _missed this_ , missed the way it ignites sparks in his belly, the way his fingertips tingle, the way every single muscle relaxes, like they know he’s safe. Because he’s where he’s supposed to be. Because he’s safe. But Virgil isn’t kissing back. He’s completely unmoving under Jordan’s hands, under his mouth, and Jordan pulls away to ask him what’s going on, but Virgil speaks first._ _

__“Stop,” he says quietly, shaking one of his arms free from Jordan’s grip to place a hand on his chest. He sounds like every word hurts, like the rejection is hitting him like a punch to the stomach, and honestly, that’s exactly how Jordan feels too. “You don’t want this.”_ _

“What are you– Of course I do!” Jordan snaps, anxiety clawing at his throat. He knows that Virgil is right, but he also doesn’t know if he’s brave enough to try and fix this sober. This is the only way he knows how, and he’s blowing it. A thought crosses his mind, and it makes him feel sick. “Don’t you want me anymore? Is that it? Have I pushed you too far?” 

“Of course I want you,” Virgil says softly, like it’s common sense – but it’s _not_ , because there’s no other reason that Jordan can think of. The younger man ignores his protests, barely listens when he starts saying _but why_ , and cuts him off with a hand on his face, touch gentle and soothing. Jordan can’t stop himself from leaning into it. “If you really do want me, Jord, then kiss me when you’re sober. I won’t push you away then." 

Jordan doesn’t sulk. He just falls into silence; a sad, desperate one, and he can’t take his eyes off of Virgil’s face as he strips him out of his clothes and helps him into his pyjamas. He’s so kind, so thoughtful, yet at any moment he could just- rip Jordan’s throat out. The idea doesn’t scare him as much as it should. 

He tucks Jordan into bed like he’s a child, sitting on the edge of the mattress by his thigh and looking at him for a minute. “Milly was right. We definitely need to talk tomorrow, okay?” He asks quietly, reaching up to push Jordan’s hair off of his forehead. “I’ll be- I’ll be waiting, when you wake up. Get some sleep, love. Goodnight.” 

Jordan thinks he says something back, but his eyes are already closed and he’s slipping into sleep. He feels a spot of warmth on his hairline – Virgil’s mouth, he thinks – and then hears the door close. 

If he pulls Virgil’s pillow closer to him, buries his face in it and tries his hardest to pretend that it’s the real thing, well… It doesn’t matter. Nobody else needs to know. 

. 

_Jordan feels restless, twisting against the sheets. He can feel the warmth from Virgil’s body, so close but not close_ enough _, but he won’t move, won’t let him touch. It’s agonising, tantalising, and Jordan feels his mouth water as he looks into those dark, dark eyes._

_“You trust me, don’t you?” Virgil asks. His voice is quiet and low, practically purring as he lowers his face to speak right into Jordan’s ear. His breath ghosts against Jordan’s skin and it makes him keen, back arching in an attempt to get closer, but Virgil pulls further away. “Do you trust me, Jordan?”_

_He nods, eyes slipping closed as he falls back against the mattress, almost deflated. He feels defeated, accepting the fact that he’s not going to get what he wants – or rather, he’s not going to get what he wants_ how _he wants it. He just has to wait._

_Virgil’s hand comes up to curve around Jordan’s cheek, palm hot and big, and it feels like he’s towering over him. He’s big, all of him, so big, surrounding Jordan and taking up every inch of space in the room. There’s no escape. “Good boy,” he whispers, pressing a wet kiss to the hinge of Jordan’s jaw._

_The feel of his tongue flickering against Jordan’s skin is heavenly, and he lets out a broken moan, so gone already from such minimal contact. He’s desperate for anything, anything that makes him feel alive, anything that makes Virgil_ seem _alive. He tries to move his wrists just to feel Virgil’s fingertips grind tight against the bone, keeping him pinned down._

_“You know the rules,” Virgil says, pulling back to gaze down at Jordan. He’s smirking, just slightly, and when his tongue darts out to wet his lips, Jordan sees a flash of his teeth. They’re startling white and so, so sharp, and Jordan feels breathless from how much he_ wants _. “No moving. No speaking. You’ll get what you want if you’re patient.”_

_Jordan nods again, but challenges Virgil with his stare. He’s not going to make this easy, is he, and Virgil will never back down. It’s a cat and mouse game, push and pull, and Jordan is enjoying being the prey – because Virgil makes for the perfect predator._

_The younger man strokes his thumb through the short bristles of Jordan’s beard, catching at the corner of his lips once, and then leans down to reward him with a kiss. It doesn’t feel like a reward; it’s messy, his tongue sliding hotly against Jordan’s as he takes and takes and takes, and the sharp points of his teeth sting where they’re digging into the soft skin of his bottom lip. The faint tang of blood fills his mouth, and Virgil licks into the taste desperately._

_“So good for me,” Virgil murmurs, pulling away with a gasp. He tucks his face into the space between Jordan’s shoulder and his neck, nose dragging up the thick vein there as he breathes in harshly. Jordan can feel his heart pounding in his chest, but it’s not from fear. He’s excited, turned on out of his mind, and he needs everything that Virgil can give him. “Do you want it, Jordan? Do you want me to do it?”_

_His teeth are poised dangerously over Jordan’s jugular. One wrong move – or right, depending on how you look at it – will send them sinking sinking sinking through the thin skin, like a knife through butter. One wrong move will mean that Jordan is Virgil’s; entirely, wholly, without any kind of pretence. There would be nothing left to give him._

_He nods, because he can’t think of anything else in the entire world that he wants more._

_It’s the wrong answer, though, because Virgil moves his hand from Jordan’s face and tangles his fingers in his hair. He pulls sharply, hard enough that it hurts, that Jordan’s entire head snaps backwards, and now his throat is entirely bare, vulnerable and ready for whatever Virgil wants to do to him._

_“Use your words – tell me,” Virgil snaps impatiently, voice hard and leaving no room for mercy. Jordan’s dick throbs, twitching where it’s resting against his belly, and he gasps, but stops himself from speaking. He wants to feel it again, wants to be entirely submissive, wants Virgil to tell him what he wants. His plan works, because Virgil pulls his hair again, harder and less forgiving, and tears sting behind his eyes. “Tell me you want it, Jordan.”_

_“Yes –_ please _,” he says, _begs_. He’s speaking nonsense, words tripping over themselves as they fight their way out of his throat, and Virgil grins dangerously, tightening his grip on Jordan’s hair. “Please, I want it. I want it so bad, Virg, _please _–”_

_“See,” Virgil says soothingly, releasing his grip and brushing his fingers over Jordan’s hair gently. He leans down, and they’re finally touching,_ finally _, with Jordan’s dick trapped between their bare stomachs. The friction is a relief, but he barely feels it as Virgil drops short, soft kisses onto his lips. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now you know what happens if you do as you’re told.”_

_Jordan risks curling his arm around Virgil’s shoulder and pulling him close, and he’s grateful when he doesn’t get punished. “Thank you,” he whispers, and doesn’t realise he’s crying until Virgil’s mouth tastes salty, but he wants more, wantswantswants–_

__His entire body is shaking when he wakes up. There’s real tears on his face, and he darts his tongue out to catch them at the corner of his mouth, thinking about how Virgil’s mouth tasted in his dream, how _real_ it felt. _ _

__How much he actually wants it._ _

__He doesn’t feel guilty when he curls his fingers around his dick, and it only takes two strokes for him to come, staring up at the ceiling with his heart pounding in his chest, and the only sound is his own harsh breaths bouncing off the walls._ _

__What the _fuck_ has he gotten himself into?_ _

__._ _

__He must fall back asleep, because the next time he wakes up, there’s weak winter sunlight streaming in through the open curtains and his mouth is so dry he feels like he’s swallowed sand. He rolls over with a groan, stretching his arms above his head, and blinks at what he sees._ _

__There’s a glass of water and a packet of paracetamol on his bedside table. He definitely didn’t leave them there, and Virgil had his hands full when he maneuvered Jordan up the stairs, but he didn’t hear Virgil come into his room during the night._ _

__His cheeks flame bright red when he thinks about it, because it could have been any time. Was it when he was dreaming – twisting against the sheets, letting out soft moans, gasping Virgil’s name? Or was it afterwards, when he’d managed to get back to sleep, hair mussed and a damp spot on his boxers because he hadn’t bothered to clean himself up?_ _

__He takes two pills and gulps down the entire glass of water just to stop himself thinking about it. It’s almost shameful, really, and it shouldn’t be, because Virgil has seen him in much more compromising positions than that. Virgil has _had_ him in much more compromising positions, but that part of him feels like it’s private again. It feels like something Virgil shouldn’t see, despite the fact that he’s never, ever hid it from him._ _

__When the painkillers have kicked in and his headache has calmed into a dull throb at the back of his skull, he drags himself into the shower, hiding his underwear right at the bottom of the laundry basket. He stays there for what feels like hours, until his fingers have gone wrinkly and the bathroom has steamed up._ _

__He’d like to pretend that he’s not hiding on purpose, but he remembers agreeing to talk things out. He remembers Virgil saying he’d be waiting. It feels a little like leading a lamb to the slaughter._ _

__He takes his time drying off and getting dressed, even going as far as to style his hair carefully. The gel is like an armour, he thinks. Anything less would make him too vulnerable, and Virgil could probably smell vulnerability a mile off. That’s what all predators do, isn’t it? He doesn’t want to be the next victim (of course, he means that metaphorically. He knows by now that Virgil isn’t going to hurt him – if he wanted to, he would’ve done it already)._ _

__But by the time he manages to drag himself downstairs, head low and hands shoved into his pockets, he realises that the house is uncharacteristically quiet. There’s no quiet humming, or the sounds of Virgil shuffling about. No kettle on to boil or the clink of glasses as they’re being washed up. Every room is empty._ _

__He can’t help but feel betrayed._ _

__He spent so much time preparing himself for the talk, running through what he was going to say in his head, and now Virgil has decided it’s the perfect time for a little break? Where was this plan when Jordan didn’t _want_ to see him?_ _

__There’s no note. He still searches for it though, checks down the sides of the sofa in case it’s fallen down and behind the takeaway menus on the fridge in case it slipped from the magnet, but he comes up empty handed. Virgil hadn’t even had the decency to tell him where he was going, or how long he’d be._ _

___You did the exact same last night_ , his traitorous brain says, but he decides to ignore it._ _

__He plugs his phone into charge and then waits ten minutes until it’s on at least ten per cent, then turns it on. His stomach is rolling as the screen flashes, and he half expects a text from Virgil, but there are no notifications. Just pure radio silence._ _

__His hands aren’t shaking when he texts Virgil. He promises, they’re not._ _

___Where are you?_ _ _

__Five minutes pass without a reply, and then ten. Fifteen and he’s putting his phone face down on the coffee table so he doesn’t have to look at it, and he sits back, pulling his knees up to his chest. He isn’t worried. Virgil has his own life, one that’s private, has for the entire time Jordan’s known him. He isn’t privy to that, and that’s fine. He’s accepted it now._ _

__He’s just about managed to convince himself that he doesn’t care when his phone finally chimes, and he jumps up, scrambling to get it. It’s embarrassing, really, but it’s not like anyone is around to see it._ _

__**Went for a walk. Sorry, didn’t know whether or not to text you. X** _ _

__The kiss on the end still makes his heart flutter in his chest, despite how his head feels about Virgil right now. That’s the thing that’s kept him around – the fact that every single second he spends with Virgil feels like the first time. They’ve never lost that spark, and he doesn’t think they ever will._ _

__He doesn’t reply. The bitter, spiteful part of him doesn’t want to give Virgil the satisfaction (texting him first was bad enough), and he _wants_ Virgil to know that he’s angry. Does he have the right to be? Probably not, but then again, he never claimed to be a saint._ _

__He wastes a few hours by doing menial shit. Makes a sandwich, washes the dishes. Has coffee after coffee, just so he has something to do with his hands. Puts a load of laundry on and sorts it all, colours from darks from whites, painstakingly slow, and then texts his mum, just to tell her he loves her. Just because he can._ _

__Eventually, the sun starts to set, and there’s no sign of Virgil. No telltale sign of a key scraping in the lock, or the slightest touch of Virgil’s presence, lighting up every room he steps into. Nothing, absolutely nothing, and he starts to feel sick with worry._ _

__What if Virgil has left him for good? What if he’s never coming back? God knows it wouldn’t be the first time he’s just abandoned a life, and it probably won’t be the last._ _

___Are you coming home?_ _ _

__**Of course I am. X** _ _

__Jordan notices that he doesn’t specify when, and it hurts a little bit, if he’s being honest. He probably wouldn’t want to be at home either if he was Virgil, but still, he’s already said he’s willing to talk things through, and honestly, what more could Virgil actually ask for – given the circumstances? It’s not exactly been easy for Jordan._ _

___When?_ _ _

__**Soon, I promise. Don’t worry about me x** _ _

__His instinct is to text back and tell Virgil that he’s not worried, but that would be a lie. Instead, he wanders out into the hallway, eyes scanning over the message again and again until it just blurs into one black line. He drops to the stairs, sitting on the second step from the bottom, and puts his phone down beside him, burying his head in his hands._ _

__Every single thought in his head is overwhelming. He closes his eyes and tries to organise it all, fingers tugging at his hair every time his mind strays, because it’s really not helpful. He’s just- he’s just got to sort his head out, that’s all. Sort it out and then say everything he needs to, or he’ll never get it all out._ _

__He doesn’t know how long he’s sitting there, but it’s pitch black by the time Virgil’s key turns in the lock and the door opens. Somehow, he looks even worse than Jordan has seen him over the past week or so, and he stands quickly, squaring his shoulders._ _

__“Where have you been?” He asks, voice hard and demanding. Virgil barely glances at him, throwing his keys into the bowl on the side table and toeing his shoes off, unwinding the scarf from around his neck and hanging it on the coat hooks. “I said–”_ _

__“I heard you,” Virgil says quietly, finally looking up. He looks lost, so lost, eyes endlessly sad and mouth bitten raw. He only ever does that when he’s anxious about something or other, and now Jordan is seriously worried. “I told you, I went for a walk. Did you really not believe me when I said I was coming back?”_ _

__“It’s been –” Jordan pauses, reaching back to grab his phone and unlocking the screen to check the time. “– four hours, Virgil. Four fucking hours since you said you’d be home _soon_ , so forgive me if the thought might have crossed my mind.”_ _

__“I lost track of time. I’m sorry,” Virgil says, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. The worst thing is that he genuinely seems it, apologies written all over his face, and Jordan can’t bring himself to be angry anymore. He lets his shoulders slump, a clear sign of surrender. “Didn’t know if you’d eaten or not, so I bought Chinese.”_ _

__He lifts the bag up and then turns, ready to go into the kitchen and plate it up, but Jordan stops him with a hand around his wrist. Virgil seems surprised, stopping in his tracks and glancing back over his shoulder like he’s waiting for something – some strong words, or maybe even a punch. Instead, Jordan lowers his gaze._ _

__“I want– I want to work through this, Virgil,” he says quietly. He risks glancing up at Virgil, who’s worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, but his eyes are bright with anticipation. “I want to be with you, and I want to fix it. I want to fix us. I meant what I said last night – I miss you, more than you probably realise. But I need you to be completely, entirely honest with me, all right? No more lies. Because–– if there is– then… We’re through. I can’t deal with any more lies. Can you do that for me, Virgil? Can you do that?”_ _

__“Yes,” Virgil breathes, almost immediately after Jordan has finished talking. He shoves the takeaway onto the side table and turns back to face Jordan, shaking his wrist free and tangling their fingers together. For once, Jordan doesn’t mind the contact. “God, yes. I’d do anything, Jord, I swear. I’ll do anything to get you back. Thank you.”_ _

__It’s all a bit of a mess, relief and exhilaration making Virgil speak too fast, making his accent a tiny bit stronger, and Jordan can’t help but smile a little bit. It’s sweet. He really has missed this, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise._ _

__“Just… One step at a time, yeah?” Jordan says. He doesn’t know why, but he’s feeling a little shy, like he’s getting to know Virgil all over again. He knows so much, but at the same time – absolutely nothing at all. They’re starting from scratch, here. They might already love each other, but this is brand new territory. “It’s a lot to take in.”_ _

__Virgil nods, but there’s tears glinting in his eyes and his mouth is pressed in a thin line like he’s trying to hold back. Jordan finally caves, gives into the part of his mind that is no longer traitorous but welcome instead – and pulls Virgil in for a hug, tight and quick but still warm._ _

__God, he’s missed it so much._ _

__“Sort dinner out,” Jordan says, clearing his throat. His voice sounds far too choked up, emotion stinging at his eyes too, but he puts as much authority into it as he can and gently shoves Virgil towards the kitchen. “And then we can talk, all right? Not too much, not for tonight, but I have a few questions.”_ _

__They eat in silence, but Jordan can’t help but notice the little glances Virgil throws his way when he thinks he’s not looking. The air around them isn’t tense anymore, anticipatory if anything, but there’s still a little grain of fear at the back of Jordan’s mind. He’s about to get the answers to all of his questions – but that doesn’t mean he has to like it._ _

__“So where did you go earlier?” Jordan asks, aiming for casual – and failing. This isn’t something that Virgil has to tell him, because he firmly believes that people should have their own private places to grieve (and he has no doubt that that was what Virgil was doing, really), but he’s too curious for his own good. “I mean – this isn’t part of the honesty policy. You don’t have to tell me.”_ _

__Virgil smiles, but it’s tight and not quite real. “I went down to the docks,” he says dutifully. It sounds like it hurts to say, like every word is fighting to come out, but Jordan listens patiently. At least Virgil is willing to talk. “I just… walked along the river. Thinking about you, mostly. About our first date. As soon as you showed up, that was when I realised I couldn’t just – give this up. I couldn’t walk away from you. I wanted to, even looked at plane tickets. Anywhere but here, because I knew I couldn’t give you the life you deserve. But then you smiled at me and it took my breath away, and I fell in love with you so fast I didn’t know what had hit me. I couldn’t stop it from happening.”_ _

__“Oh,” Jordan says, but it’s barely more than a whisper and he’s not even sure if Virgil heard. He looks away because he can’t stand what he sees in Virgil’s eyes; desperation, sadness, an awful kind of heartbreak. The kind he’s been feeling deep in his chest since he found out. “Why today, though? Why did you just- disappear?”_ _

__“Honestly?” Virgil asks. He doesn’t meet Jordan’s gaze, instead looking down at his hands and shrugging helplessly. He seems lost, if anything. Completely, entirely lost, and it’s all Jordan’s fault. “When you kissed me last night… God, I wanted it more than anything. To kiss you back and just fall into bed with you, pretend none of the past few weeks had ever happened. I wanted to feel the warmth of your skin. I wanted to sleep next to you, to actually _sleep_ , because all I do, every single night, is lay on this sofa and stare at the ceiling. Wondering if you’re awake, what you’re dreaming about. Deciding that if I concentrate hard enough, I’ll be able to tell what you’re thinking._ _

__“I wanted to be with you again. In any way I could, no matter what it took. But that’s not what you want, is it? You would’ve woken up and hated me, would have thought I was even worse because I took advantage of you. I want you to love me more than I want you physically. I didn’t mean to leave you sitting in the house waiting, but I didn’t think you would. I thought it would just be- more of the same, I guess. And it fucked with my head, Jordan. God, did it fuck with my head. I had to get away.”_ _

__Jordan’s breath hitches on a sob, but he holds it back. He knows how much Virgil loves him, and he knows that he’d sacrifice everything for him – including stopping himself from opening up just because it’s hurting Jordan. Instead, he wipes his eyes subtly. “And if I had been the same when you came back?” He asks, hating the way his voice cracks. Virgil reaches out to put a hand on his knee but stops, fingers hovering halfway between them. “What would you have done?”_ _

__“I would have ended it there and then,” Virgil says simply. Jordan’s head snaps up in surprise, and he meets Virgil’s gaze head on. He sees nothing but bare faced honesty, and bile rises in his throat._ _

__“But you said- you said you couldn’t _walk away_ from me,” he gasps through sobs. He’s crying now, proper tears that roll down his cheeks so fast they burn his skin. He can see it in his head when he closes his eyes: the straight line of Virgil’s shoulders as he walks away, the heavy hang of his head, the door closing behind him one last time. Finality. “How could you just- walk away? You said you _loved me_!” _ _

__“I do love you. That’s why I would have ended it,” Virgil says. He sounds like he’s panicking now, trying to explain it so he doesn’t hurt Jordan anymore, but he’s already dug himself a hole. “If it was up to me, I would have spent the rest of my life on my knees begging you to forgive me. But you hated me, Jordan. For a while there, you _hated_ me, and I tried to be someone else, to show you that I’m not the monster you thought I was, but it’s not true, is it? None of it is true! I am that monster, and you couldn’t live with that!” _ _

__“So what?” Jordan spits. He didn’t mean for this to turn into an argument, but it seems like everything he touches falls apart. He’s starting to wonder if _he’s_ the monster in this relationship. “You just leave me to deal with this on my own, and then- what? Find someone new to lie to for years? Forget about me completely?” _ _

__“ _No_ ,” Virgil says with so much force that Jordan recoils. He looks apologetic for a second, tips of his fingers grazing the back of Jordan’s hand gently, but then he catches himself and pulls away like the touch hurt. “No. I could never forget about you. None of this was about moving on, do you really think I could? Do you think I could just get over my soulmate? But I was ruining your life, Jordan, can’t you see that? I was turning you into some awful person that was just- desperately sad, _all the time_. You didn’t know who you could trust. You didn’t know what to believe. I hated it, okay? I hated seeing you like that. Nobody should _ever_ make you feel like that, because you’re incredible. You’re smart, you’re kind, you’re beautiful, and you're funny – you’re perfect. And here I was, supposed to love you more than anything, and I _broke_ you. I couldn’t keep doing it to you.” _ _

__“You’d really rather spend the rest of your life lonely and miserable than be with me?” Jordan asks, wiping his cheeks roughly. It stings, but at least the physical pain distracts from the awful ache in his chest. “I remember what you were like when I met you. Do you really want that?”_ _

__“I figured that- that I’ve done it before, so I could do it again. I haven’t forgotten what it feels like to be all by yourself in this world,” Virgil says. He sounds exhausted, dark smudges under his eyes like bruises. “And it would have hurt. Of course it would’ve hurt, but it was better than the alternative. Spending the next hundred years alone, going from city to city, living out of hotel rooms and not bothering to get to know anyone because they wouldn’t be you – well, I’d at least have the memories of the year we spent together. That was better than watching you destroy yourself from the inside, Jordan. I couldn’t have lived with myself.”_ _

__“No, _no_ ,” Jordan says, shaking his head. He reaches out blindly, tears still blurring his vision, and grabs Virgil’s hands, holding them so tight it must hurt. Virgil doesn’t complain about it. “I wouldn’t have _let you_ , Virgil. I wouldn’t have let you go. Not when I’d spend the rest of my life knowing you were out there and not _with me_. That’s not fair!” _ _

__“It wouldn’t have been your choice,” Virgil reminds him gently. He shakes one of his hands out of Jordan’s grip and reaches up to cup his cheek, wiping the tears away as they fall. “It doesn’t matter now, Jordan. It’s not going to happen, okay? I’m not going anywhere, not while you still want me. I’m not sorry I told you, but I am sorry for that look on your face. You asked for honesty and I gave you that – you can’t blame me for it.”_ _

__Jordan knows that he’s being logical, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. He lets Virgil pull him in for a hug, loose enough that he could escape if he wanted to, but instead he buries his face into the younger man’s chest. His sweatshirt smells like his aftershave, spiced and smokey; a safe space for him to let himself go and cry until he can’t anymore. Virgil lets him, soothing him quietly and rubbing his back. It’s like he’s comforting a child._ _

__“What was your plan?” Jordan asks. He’s managed to exhaust himself, eyes stinging and mouth bitten raw, but he keeps his head resting against Virgil’s chest as he tangles his fingers into the hem of his sleeve. A part of him wonders if he’s doing it just to make sure Virgil can’t go anywhere. “When you met me, what was your plan? While I’m getting older every year and you look the same?”_ _

__“I didn’t have one,” Virgil says, dropping his head to press a soft kiss to the crown of Jordan’s head. “I didn’t expect to fall in love with you. Every few years or so, ever since I’ve been turned, there was always just- a strong urge. A physical one. It told me to come to Liverpool, to spend a few weeks here. I couldn’t ignore it, so I came, but I never knew why. Not until I met you. Now I know that it’s because you would end up here, and we’d meet in this city. But I didn’t expect to find you here, not after a century of coming here for no reason. So I didn’t have a plan. I figured I could just take each day as it came.”_ _

__“Fate,” Jordan murmurs distantly, picking at a loose thread by Virgil’s wrist. He feels the younger man’s chest stutter with a breath at the word, then the small smile that’s hidden in his hair. “Would you have told me if I didn’t see you that night?”_ _

__“Yes,” Virgil says, and Jordan has no doubt that he’s telling the truth now. Every word that comes out of his mouth is so simple, so earnest, that Jordan loves him even more than he did before. He didn’t think it was possible – but now he’s seeing every corner of the man he was supposed to be spending forever with, and he’s even more beautiful. “Every day it got harder to keep it from you. You deserved the truth, you deserved to be with someone who you _really_ knew. But how do I bring that up, hm? When you caught me, it was a relief. I didn’t have to lie to you anymore.” _ _

__“Okay,” Jordan says quietly. He doesn’t think he can handle any more tonight; his eyelids feel heavy and his muscles weak. His mind is spinning still, but in a more calm way – an organised chaos. It’s not what he expected, but at least it's something. “Thank you for tonight. For being truthful with me. I really appreciate it.”_ _

__“Always,” Virgil says. He’s smiling when Jordan untangles himself and stands, a tiny one that makes Jordan long for the real thing, but he knows he can’t ask for that right now. “I’ll stay down here, all right? You need a rest. It’s been a long day.”_ _

__“Thanks,” Jordan says. He can’t deny the fact he’s grateful, because he’s torn. Although things are better – certainly not fixed, but the cracks are starting to heal – he still needs to be alone, just to process what he’s been told. He’s glad that Virgil recognises that, too. “Goodnight, Virg. Sleep well.”_ _

__He places two fingers under Virgil’s chin to tilt his head up, and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. It doesn’t last long; a few seconds at best, but it’s the most contact they’ve had for weeks. Jordan has missed the feel of his skin, the beaming smile he gets in return, the warmth that floods his chest._ _

__It’s not perfect, but at least it’s a start – and his heart feels lighter than he ever thought it would again._ _

__._ _

__Jordan doesn’t ask any more questions for three days._ _

__They live in harmony, mostly: sticking to boring, safe conversation topics that don’t run the risk of sliding into unsafe territory, like Virgil asking how James and Andy are, or Jordan asking how work is going. Cups of tea brought into the bedroom the second Jordan’s alarm goes off, and dinner ready on the table if Virgil is going to be at the office late._ _

__Sometimes, Virgil’s voice grows softer, fonder, and he asks if Jordan is okay – if he wants to talk – and those moments threaten to crack the dam in his chest, but he manages to hold it back. He needs to do it when he’s ready, continue when he doesn’t feel so open and raw from their last conversation._ _

__He’s still suffering. When he closes his eyes, he can see the frown on Virgil’s face, the defeated twist of his mouth when he said he would have left. He dreams about Virgil walking away, about waking up one day and being alone, all of Virgil’s belongings cleared out of the house and not even a note in their place. He dreams about spending the rest of his life by himself, turning every corner with the desperate hope of Virgil being there, ready to say sorry, to beg him to come back._ _

__Every time, he wakes up with his heart pounding, fingers curled into fists and tear tracks dried onto his face._ _

__He’s not sure how he came so close to losing Virgil without even _realising_ it. He knows now that he was selfish. He was expecting Virgil to let Jordan keep him on a string, pull him along and ready to come back at the drop of a hat, all while Jordan was ready to push him away. He was on tenterhooks for weeks, confused and lonely, not knowing whether things would be fine or completely finished. _ _

__Jordan feels like an awful person, because he never once stopped to think about how Virgil felt. He’d assumed that he’d planned this all along, and was finally feeling some fucked up satisfaction about keeping Jordan in the dark for all this time – but now he knows how hard it was on both of them._ _

__And he pushed Virgil to the edge._ _

__He’s just about managed to get over the guilt when he asks about Virgil again. The realisation that actually, Virgil was right because it _didn’t_ happen and it’s not _going_ to settled him a little bit. The nausea has mostly eased and his heart doesn’t feel so heavy, but he’s still speaking through a lump in his throat._ _

__“I thought vampires couldn’t go out in sunlight,” is the next thing he says. He almost doesn’t mean for it to come out – he’s sitting cross legged on the sofa, completely engaged by the book in his hand, while Virgil sits on the floor by his legs, a game of FIFA flashing across the screen that Jordan barely pays attention to – but the thought popped into his mind and out of his mouth faster than he could blink._ _

__Virgil pauses the game and rolls his head back so that his temple is resting against Jordan’s knee, gaze focused on him entirely. “Where have you been getting your information from?” He asks, slightly teasing. The back of Jordan’s neck heats up and he starts to wish he hadn’t said anything. “The 1840s?”_ _

__“Well I don’t know, do I,” Jordan says defensively. It’s not like he’s been staying up all night every night researching vampires – bar a few quick Google searches, he couldn’t quite bring himself to – but he has seen films. “Not exactly common to be in a relationship with a vampire, is it?”_ _

__“I’m fine to go out in the sun. I don’t burn, and no, before you ask, I don’t sparkle either,” Virgil says patiently. There’s an amused smile on his face and he hooks his hand around Jordan’s ankle, thumb rubbing over the thin skin where the bone juts out. “I’m more of a night person, but I think that’s just me. I don’t really know the science behind it, but I guess it’s just like humans or any other creature; we’ve evolved.”_ _

__“You don’t know?” Jordan asks. He’s confused, tilts his head as he looks down at Virgil, because if that was him, he’d want to know everything. Having your life flipped upside down, no longer human but something that nobody thinks is possible… Yeah, he’d want to know. “Haven’t you looked it up?”_ _

__“No,” Virgil says, and his smile turns from amused to pained. He doesn’t look away, instead keeping his eyes firmly on Jordan’s face, but his grip on the older man’s ankle tightens subconsciously. “It’s –– it’s hard to explain, Jord. I just- I hate what I am, okay? I hate it. I’ve hated it since the second I turned, and I still hate it to this day, so I never bothered researching it. I knew a bit before I turned, anyway; my best friend when I was a human – he was a vampire. I do what I need to to get by, and that’s it. That’s all I need.”_ _

__Something tightens around Jordan’s lungs until he can’t breathe. The thought of Virgil, alone and scared, not even feeling like he’s got _himself_ for company because of what he is. The thought of him waking up every morning, looking in the mirror and hating himself, and not being able to do anything about it. _ _

__“You shouldn’t, Virg,” he says quietly, emotionally, then clears his throat. There are tears stinging at his eyes but he can’t cry, not now. This isn’t about him. “You shouldn’t hate what you are. You’re still you, aren’t you? You’re still that person I fell in love with. And I think you should learn to appreciate it, actually – because if you weren’t turned, then you wouldn’t have met me… And I think that was a pretty damn special moment. Don’t you?”_ _

__Virgil blinks up at him with wide, wet eyes, and his fingers spider up Jordan’s leg, underneath the hem of his joggers to curl around his calf. He looks like he’s actually considering it, thank god, and Jordan slides his hand along the length of his shoulders to curve around his cheek, thumb brushing just under his eye gently. “Yeah, I think I might,” he says eventually, voice thick. “I love you.”_ _

__“I love you too,” Jordan says. He feels breathless, the tips of his fingers tingling, because there was a part of him that didn’t think he’d ever hear Virgil say those words again. He didn’t know if he’d get to say them himself, but now he has – and it doesn’t feel any different than it did when he said it one month ago, or even six._ _

__Jordan watches Virgil’s eyes flutter shut, but he doesn’t seem like he’s in pain anymore. Instead, he looks contented, like the world has finally started spinning again after weeks of nothing. Jordan knows exactly how he feels, and smooths his thumb across his cheekbone just to watch him lean into the touch._ _

__“You said your best friend was a vampire,” Jordan says quietly. Virgil takes in a sharp breath but he doesn’t open his eyes, and focuses solely on the back-and-forth movement of Jordan’s thumb. “Will you tell me about him?”_ _

__Virgil breathes out, low and forced, and the smile drops from his face but he nods anyway. Jordan feels guilty, for a split second, for asking the question, but then Virgil opens his eyes. They’re full of warmth and fondness, albeit behind a thousand yard stare – the one you get when you’re living in the past. Memories, flashing through your mind. Virgil lifts himself until he’s sitting on the sofa, legs tucked under his body and resting his weight on Jordan like he needs the support._ _

__“You would have loved him,” Virgil murmurs. He tucks his head in the space under Jordan’s chin, and the older man winds an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. “His name was Gini. Georginio Gregion Emile Wijnaldum in full, but everybody called him Gini. He didn’t have a bad bone in his body, Jord. You would have loved him, and he would have loved you right back.”_ _

__“What was he like?” Jordan asks, brushing the tips of his fingers along the soft sweep of Virgil’s neck._ _

__“He was kind. So, so kind. I never heard him say a bad word about anyone, and he always saw the best in people. I was drawn to him straight away, you know – I used to wonder if that was a vampire thing, but now I know it was just because of who he was,” Virgil says. His voice cracks but he carries on, reaching out and tangling his fingers with Jordan’s. “He had a smile that was like sunshine, could light up an entire room. If I was having a bad day, all I had to do was see him: he’d smile at me, and I’d know everything was going to be alright. It took me years to stop expecting to see that smile everywhere I turned.”_ _

__Jordan looks up at the ceiling and blinks a few times, trying to stop the tears from spilling over. He’s lost people, people that he cared about – but nothing like _this_. Nobody that he could ever truly consider a brother. Virgil doesn’t seem to notice the emotion, too wrapped up in his own world and staring at his own thumb stroking along the inside of Jordan’s wrist._ _

__“He loved being a vampire, you know. Took it much better than I did. Never hid it from the people he cared about – told me from day one. He loved life, so living forever suited him perfectly,” Virgil says. “He travelled for decades. Wherever he wanted to go, he’d go by himself, because he was happy with his own company. Never sulked about it like I did. But the plan was for me to quit work and go with him. Travel the world, let him show me all his favourite places. We never made it that far.”_ _

__“I’m sorry,” Jordan whispers, although it’s futile. He just wants Virgil to know, to know that he’s listening and he cares and that it’s okay to grieve, because by the sounds of it, he hasn’t – and it’s been _years_. He’s been living with this, not telling anyone, for most of his life. _ _

__But not anymore._ _

__“He’d be so happy that I found you, too,” Virgil sighs, nudging his nose against the hollow of Jordan’s throat like he wants to climb inside his skin and merge them into one person. “He’d be happy that I’m so happy, because he just wanted the best for everyone. He never met his soulmate, but he didn’t need to. He wasn’t that kind of person. But he’d always go on about mine – where I’d meet them, what they’d look like, the personality they’d need to have to be able to put up with me.”_ _

__“And what’s the verdict?” Jordan asks. He’s not worried about the answer, because he already knows, but part of him thinks that Virgil could do with hearing it right now. “Would he approve?”_ _

__“God, yeah,” Virgil says. The question draws a small, quiet laugh from the back of his throat, like it’s obvious, and he tightens his grip on Jordan’s hand. “He’d think you’re perfect. Gorgeous, funny, witty. You don’t take any of my shit. You didn’t let me sabotage this for myself, at the start. He’d love that about you, because if he was here –– well, none of this would have happened in the first place. He’d encourage me to give things a go with you, and he’d make sure I told you from the start. We’d have been smooth sailing from the word go.”_ _

__Virgil goes quiet for a second, the contemplative kind that never does any good for anyone, but Jordan can’t bring himself to snap him out of it. He doesn’t know what would be the right thing to say – if there is anything he could say. He isn’t Gini. He can’t make this right._ _

__“I wanted to hate him, after he died. But I couldn’t. Obviously, I couldn’t. Couldn’t even stay angry at him for two minutes when he was alive,” Virgil whispers. The words drag up his throat like it hurts, and Jordan knows this is the first time he’s ever admitted it out loud. “If he was still here, I wouldn’t have made so many fucked up choices. But he’s dead, and he has been for a long time, and that’s something I have to live with.”_ _

__“ _Fuck_ ,” Jordan breathes, removing his arm from around Virgil’s shoulders to wipe his eyes. It’s awful, hearing Virgil so matter of fact about it. He shouldn’t be, and Jordan knows that he’s had years to come to terms with it, but he would never, ever be able to be this calm about losing James. It would send him spiralling. “When did he pass away?” _ _

__“Just before I was turned,” Virgil says. He sighs, and it sounds deeply uncomfortable, a pain that’s settled deep from within. “I didn’t know about it until after. Imagine that – waking up and being told you’re a vampire, oh, and by the way, your best friend is dead and you’re never going to see him again. But he would have loved the fact that I was finally like him. He would have found it hilarious. _Now I have to put up with your miserable face forever, broeder_ – that’s what he would have said.” _ _

__Jordan bites back another apology, a condolence, anything, because he’s not sure what’s going to come out of his mouth right now. Instead, he presses a kiss to Virgil’s hair, and then another. It’s not enough, but he doesn’t think anything ever could be._ _

__“I just – I can’t talk about him anymore. Not tonight,” Virgil manages to stutter out. He’s breathing quicker now, and there are tears starting to stain Jordan’s t-shirt, so he wraps his arms tighter around Virgil, silently promising that he’s never going to leave him. He hopes the message gets through._ _

__“It’s okay, you don’t have to,” Jordan says quickly, soothingly. He traces the tips of his fingers up and down the bare skin of Virgil’s arms, hoping it’s as comforting as he means it to be. “Thank you for telling me about him. He sounds incredible. I’m glad you could trust me with that.”_ _

__“Sometimes –” Virgil starts, then stops, tears choking his words. He clears his throat and then tries again, but it sounds like a struggle. “– when I found you last year, I finally started to feel like I might be okay. I realised that you’re more than enough to keep me going. Because sometimes, when I look at you, I see him. Sometimes you smile at me and it’s just – it’s him again. It’s his smile. That means more to me than you could ever realise.”_ _

__._ _

__Jordan eases himself onto his knees in front of the sofa, placing the mug on the coffee table and curling his free hand around Virgil’s cheek. He’s still asleep, dark eyelashes fanned against his skin and mouth slightly parted, looking so peaceful that it makes something squeeze tight in Jordan’s chest._ _

__He’d fallen asleep on the sofa too; Virgil nestled between his thighs and an arm around the younger man’s shoulders. It was nice, at first – until he’d woken up at the back of four am, realised where he was and just simply. _Panicked_. Too much, too soon, his brain kept telling him, so he untangled himself and escaped back to the solitude of his bedroom. _ _

__“Hey,” he says quietly, thumb stroking across the line of Virgil’s cheekbone. He feels okay about everything this morning; a lot of things were tidied up last night and his mind doesn’t feel so heavy, and the only thing that really matters is: he loves Virgil. That’s more than enough to make this work. “Hey, wake up.”_ _

__Virgil’s eyelids flutter open gently and his entire face goes soft when he realises Jordan is kneeling right in front of him, but then it’s replaced with something like concern. “What’s going on?” He mumbles, pushing himself into a sitting position. “Are you okay? What happened?”_ _

__“Nothing, I swear,” Jordan says patiently, but he can’t help the amused smile that spreads across his face. He reaches back and hands the mug of coffee to Virgil, their fingers brushing for longer than necessary. “Just – get ready, yeah? I wanna take you somewhere.”_ _

__“Where?” Virgil asks, taking a tentative sip of his coffee. He doesn’t take his eyes off Jordan’s face, expression serious, but he also looks like he can’t believe this is finally happening. Like he never expected Jordan to be this close to him again, or to even– breathe the same air._ _

__“It doesn’t matter,” Jordan says softly. He rises on his knees to press a kiss to Virgil’s forehead before he can even think about it, and then stands, tugging his fingers through the younger man’s hair once. “You’ll see when we get there, okay? Be ready in twenty minutes.”_ _

__Virgil is ready and waiting by the time Jordan comes back downstairs, sitting on the edge of the sofa with his coat on dutifully. He looks confused – nervous, even – but still eager. Hopeful, almost, and it shines bright in his eyes when he smiles sweetly up at Jordan. That look on his face could drive the sanest of men right to the edge. Jordan would know._ _

__“Come on,” he says instead of dwelling on it, clearing his throat. He holds his hand out for Virgil to take and then doesn’t let go when the younger man rises to his feet, tangling their fingers together. He’s trying not to move things too fast, because he feels like if he rushes it then he’ll ruin it, but he _missed_ Virgil. He missed him so much it hurts, and there’s still a phantom ache every time he realises he can’t lean across and kiss him when he wants to, so he’s letting himself hold Virgil’s hand._ _

__They chat about menial things on the way. Jordan doesn’t think they’ve ever spoken about the weather, or the strange lack of traffic on the roads. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt awkward around Virgil in the entire time he’s known him – not even the first time he bumped into him in Carol’s pub after Virgil ghosted him, or when he didn’t know what Virgil was capable of – but he does now. All the questions he wants to ask are on the tip of his tongue, but he’s scared that if he asks them, he’ll open all these boxes that should never, ever be opened in public._ _

__They’re still holding hands. Jordan can see Virgil glance down sometimes, probably in disbelief that it’s actually happening, but he can’t quite bring himself to pull away and he knows that Virgil has wanted this (at the very least) for weeks. It’s a false sense of normalcy, especially when paired with the shitty small talk, but the thought of giving Virgil anything more makes a lump rise in Jordan’s throat._ _

__He can’t do it. Not yet. Not when there are still so many questions left unanswered._ _

__“This place,” Jordan starts, then sighs. There’s a small voice in his head, shouting at him, telling him he’s making a mistake, but he knows that he has to do this. He _wants_ to do this. Because he knows that if he gives Virgil everything he possibly can, he’ll get everything back. He wants all of Virgil now. He’s all in. “This place is special to me. I don’t know why, but it’s started to feel like home. I’ve only ever brought James here, because I didn’t want to ruin it, but––”_ _

__He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath before he says something stupid. Something he’ll regret._ _

__“But what?” Virgil asks softly. It’s quiet, like he’s trying not to scare off a wild animal, but he doesn’t have to. Jordan isn’t scared of this. Not anymore. He’s never felt stronger when it comes to his relationship with Virgil. “Why did you bring me here, Jord?”_ _

__“Because I love you,” he says, looking up at Virgil from underneath his eyelashes. His throat feels tight and the words struggle to come out, and it feels even worse when Virgil brushes his thumb reassuringly along Jordan’s knuckles. Back and forth, back and forth. Like a mantra. “Because I want to give you everything I’ve got. I don’t want any secrets between us anymore, Virg. If we’re doing this, if we start fresh –– I need you to know that you have me, too. You have me, as long as I’ve got you.”_ _

__“Oh,” Virgil breathes, but it’s barely audible. He looks away, to the side and then down as he blinks, and Jordan knows he’s trying to blink away tears. When he speaks again, his voice is raw, but so, so earnest. “That’s– that’s all I want. All I’ve ever wanted is you, but you already know that. Thank you, Jord. Thank you.”_ _

__Jordan smiles. His voice is gone and no words will come out, but it doesn’t matter, as they’re outside Elle’s cafe and Jordan is pushing the door open. He doesn’t need to say anything, just ushers Virgil into a booth near the window and tells him to stay while Jordan gets orders their drinks._ _

__“I was starting to think you’d made him up, you know,” Elle says, grinning wickedly at him. She’s leaning on the counter, newspaper crossword discarded in favour of staring at Virgil interestedly, tapping the end of the pen against her chin. “You were always talking about your dishy new boyfriend, but you never brought him here! We were all gossiping about whether or not he was real. Seemed too good to be true.”_ _

__“Well, he’s real. He’s really real,” Jordan says. He follows Elle’s line of sight to where Virgil is sat, head turned a fraction to stare out of the window. The sunlight streaming in lights up his side profile like he’s wearing a halo, and Jordan feels like all the breath has been snatched right out of his lungs. “A latte and an Americano please, Elle. And a chocolate croissant.”_ _

__“Got a sweet tooth, has he?” Elle asks, even as she turns her back to start preparing the coffees. She knows him well enough that she knows for a fact that Jordan hates croissants, and he feels his cheeks heat up as he realises Virgil didn’t even _ask_ for it. He ordered it automatically. (And then starts questioning when it began to feel like they’re newly dating all over again). “He is gorgeous, Jord. How did you pull him?” _ _

__“Just got lucky, I guess,” Jordan says. He glances back over his shoulder and Virgil catches him looking, shooting a small, secretive smile his way. Jordan smiles back because he can’t help himself. “I never thought I would end up with anyone like him, you know. I’m ridiculously lucky.”_ _

__“On the house,” Elle says softly, waving his hand away when he tries to pay her for the tray of coffees she slides across the counter. She’s grinning at him fondly; motherly, almost, and he reaches across to squeeze her hand in thanks. “You seem really, really happy, Jordan – and I’m happy for you.”_ _

.

_Virgil’s chest brushes against Jordan’s. Soft, soft skin and dusky hairs sparking electricity. Enough that it sets fire to the whole room, the whole house – but in the middle of it all, one thing: JordanandVirgilVirgilandJordan._

_“I love you,” Virgil says softly. His eyes are impossibly black and impossibly bottomless, mouth a thin, serious line, and he tips his head forward to kiss Jordan gently. His teeth catch, draw blood that he licks away as soon as it beads on the surface of Jordan’s skin, but it’s soothing. Makes Jordan feel calm. Safe._

_“I love you too,” Jordan says, gasps, but it’s not as serene as Virgil’s words. It’s desperation, a beg and a plea, and Virgil listens to him patiently. There’s a smile on his face and he curves his palm around Jordan’s cheek, fingers spidering around the back of his head._

_Protective._

I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever.

__

_His nose bumps against Jordan's as he forces eye contact, lips brushing every so often at the corner of the older man's mouth. "Are you sure?" He asks, barely above a whisper. He's looking, always looking, always checking, that Jordan is okay. So thoughtful, so careful. Jordan can't imagine life without him. "You still want this?"_

__

_"Virgil," Jordan says, and then trails off, because nothing else needs to be said. It's a yes and a please, a prayer and a curse. He has no other words, just that. That's all he needs._

__

_Virgil understands._

__

_He presses a line of kisses along Jordan's cheekbone, to his temple and then down, until his teeth are grazing against the hinge of his jaw. It's not an accident when the sharp point catches, this time. It's not an accident when the tangy scent of blood fills Jordan's heightened senses. It's not an accident when Virgil's tongue flickers soothingly over the sensitive skin._

__

_"Okay?" He asks, the word barely ghosting over the shell of Jordan's ear. He presses a soft kiss to the small cut on his jaw, then brushes his thumb over it, always loving. Tears spring to Jordan's eyes and he turns his head to catch Virgil's mouth in a bruising kiss._

__

_"Perfect," he says – a confirmation. His voice is strained, emotion making his throat feel tight, and Virgil smiles against his skin. His forehead drops against Jordan's cheek, then slides lower, until he can tuck his nose into the curve of his neck. It's almost like he's shielding himself from the world, but Jordan knows better. Jordan knows that it isn't about hiding from the rest of the world, but making_ Jordan _his world instead._

__

_His breath is damp against Jordan's skin, repetitive puffs of it that feel more reassuring than it really has the right to be. And still he's gentle, even in this, even when his lips brush a slight touch against Jordan’s sensitive throat, even when his tongue flickers out to drag over Jordan's racing pulse._

__

_He feels the touch everywhere. Sparks, like fireworks, choking him and sliding to his stomach, where they explode. Coursing through his veins, weaving in with the blood cells, with the thing that Virgil wants most. The very beginning and the very end of Virgil's desire, alive in Jordan's body, underneath him, waiting, waiting,_ wanting _._

__

_He wants._

__

_But Virgil waits._

__

_It's almost hesitance. More anticipatory than anything, but every movement seems shy. Shy in a way that Jordan has only ever seen him when he was broken, torn apart to his rawest form and presented to Jordan so he could build him back up again, but that isn't what this is._

__

_This is nothing like that._

__

_This and that, they are worlds apart._

__

_They have never, ever crossed._

__

_Virgil's tongue darts out again, the point of it brushing a wet line up the length of Jordan's throat, parallel to where his jugular lies. He must feel the beat of his heart pulsating against the thin skin there – maybe that's why he's doing it. It's the most simple, intimate form of love that Jordan can imagine, and it's his to share with Virgil. Nobody else's. Jordan feels greedy with it, protective, because nobody else_ deserves _it._

__

_Jordan wants to tell him to hurry up, but he doesn't know how to. He doesn't know what he's asking for, or what_ this _is leading to. He's lost, really, but he isn't scared, because he knows that Virgil will always find him again._

__

_"Please," he whispers instead, burying his fingers in the loose curls of Virgil's hair. He pulls, just once but sharp and forceful, and listens to the way Virgil groans, deep and guttural, vibrating from within his chest through to Jordan's, but it does the trick._

__

_It does the trick because Virgil flattens his tongue against Jordan's throat, and now he can feel his_ own _pulse and Virgil's teeth are exactly where he wants them but it's not enough because there's no pressure, no_ bite _, and when Jordan tries to push his head down, he feels the resistance._

__

_"Not yet," Virgil murmurs, but it's nowhere near as sharp as his instructions were before. His voice is soft, calm, like he knows Jordan has been desperate for minuteshoursweeks_ days _, and needs the reassurance. His arm slides under Jordan's shoulders to pull him impossibly closer, cradling him against his body even as he pulls his face away to look down at him. "Not yet, love. Just trust me."_

__

_Jordan nods, and his fingers slide against Virgil's scalp. Reassuring him for the reassurances. It's give and take, equals and nothing more nothing less. He's never wanted it any other way. He respects Virgil just for the honesty in his eyes when he looks at Jordan._

__

_"I do," Jordan whispers. He looks up at Virgil and feels like he's opened his eyes for the first time, like he's seeing him, really, properly seeing him. He sees him and loves him and feels like his breath has been snatched away, and he can't stop himself from reaching up and brushing his knuckles along Virgil's cheekbones. "I do trust you. With my life."_

__

This time, he thinks he forces himself awake. Can't stand it, doesn't want to see anymore, doesn't want to think of himself wanting _that_. It goes against everything he thought he felt about Virgil and what he is, and it scares him. It's such a reverse of the recent situation, because for once, he's not scared of Virgil.

__

He's scared of _himself_.

__

He doesn't trust himself, aching in his boxers and breathless, to not go downstairs. To not approach the sofa where Virgil is sleeping peacefully, and waking him up with a gentle hand on his cheek. To not kiss him, all tongues and teeth and no mercy, and pull away with a sigh. To not ask, beg, plead, to not do whatever it takes, just to feel it.

__

Just to feel like Virgil.

__

This time, he turns onto his side, away from the door, and clenches his fingers in the spare pillow (Virgil's pillow) like he's trying to anchor himself. He squeezes his eyes shut and blows out a deep breath, trying to calm his racing pulse, and thinks of anything, _anything_ else.

__

But his mind keeps going back to Virgil, and the white glint of his teeth in the endless darkness.

__

.

__

Jordan doesn’t mean for it to happen, but things change.

__

He doesn’t know what causes the shift, only that it’s tangible, thick enough to settle on his tongue and curl around his fingers like ribbon. Virgil doesn’t notice it at first, but that’s alright. They’ve got plenty of time, and Jordan is nothing if not patient.

__

It’s the dream, he decides. He’s tried not to think about it too much because it makes a shiver travel down his spine, fear coating his mind, but when he _does_ –– well, he decides that he’s okay with it now.

__

He’s okay with it. 

__

With Virgil being a vampire.

__

Because he loves him too much to ever be able to give him up. That’s what’s shifted, that’s the realisation, and it’s alright, because Jordan has never felt safer than when Virgil is looking at him with warmth in his eyes. He knows now that Virgil would die to protect him – because he would die to protect Virgil, too. 

__

Virgil notices the change four hours into the day, five minutes before Jordan has to leave. He’s fussing about, pulling his coat on and making sure he’s got everything (phone, wallet, keys), messing with his hair in the mirror. Turns, asks Virgil if he looks alright, and grins when Virgil’s eyes light up and he breathes, _always_.

__

“Alright,” he says, can’t stop the happiness from seeping into his voice. He feels lighter than he has for months. He pats his pockets to make sure he’s got everything, then steps into Virgil’s personal space, where he’s stood in the kitchen making a cup of tea, and stretches up to kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you later, yeah? Love you.” 

__

“...Love you too,” Virgil says, although it’s delayed. He’s looking at Jordan with a bewildered stare, so he can definitely sense the shift in the dynamic between them, but then something settles over the line of his shoulders and his face lights up. He reaches out to squeeze Jordan’s bicep, smiling softly. “Have a good time. Text me when you’re on your way back and I’ll have dinner ready.” 

__

“What have I done to deserve you?” Jordan asks in wonderment. He brushes the tips of his fingers over Virgil’s cheek just to watch him flush, ducking his head, then kisses his forehead again just because he can’t resist. When he pulls back, he checks his watch and draws in a deep breath. “Right, I’m going to be late if I don’t hurry up, and you know what Milly will be like if I keep him waiting.” 

__

“Go,” Virgil says, laugh bubbling up his throat. He pushes at Jordan’s back, ushering him towards the door, and honestly, it feels exactly like it did two months ago, six, _twelve_. Light and easy, like they don’t have to try. Perfect, if Jordan’s being honest. “I’ll still be here when you get back.” 

__

Jordan wouldn’t expect anything else at this point.

__

As expected, Milly is already sat at their usual table at Elle’s, hands on his chin and staring out of the window expectantly. Jordan takes a moment, realises that he will always have people there, waiting for him, ready to support him, and he can’t stop the grin from spreading over his face as he pushes himself through the door.

__

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, unwinding the scarf from around his neck and carefully placing his coat on the back of his chair. He blows a kiss at Elle and then drops into the seat, trying to catch his breath after rushing down the road. “Got caught up at home. Have you been waiting long?”

__

“Only a few minutes,” James says dismissively. He’s got a curious look on his face though, so he’s clearly not that bothered about Jordan being late (for once) and he shifts forward until he’s hanging across the table, sliding a mug of coffee across to Jordan. “Caught up at home – are you okay? Are things still bad with Virgil?” 

__

Jordan can’t help but laugh at the suggestion, because it just seems bizarre now. He pats Milly’s hand in apology, and takes a sip of his coffee, trying to figure out how to word it without giving too much away. “No, we’re –– we’re good. It’s taken a while, but things are good now. You helped a lot, actually, so thank you. I’m really glad I stuck it out.” 

__

“Oh,” Milly says. He nods, but mostly to himself, and then looks at Jordan with a cheeky grin on his face, gently kicking his shin under the table. “So you were _that_ kind of caught up, then?”

__

“ _No_ ,” Jordan says fiercely, the word coming out before he can stop it. The back of his neck is heating up and he knows his cheeks must be bright red, but this- this is something that he hasn’t let himself think about for a long time. He’s simply had no room for it in his head, apart from when he was dreaming about Virgil’s mouth on his skin, but he’d managed to suppress that as soon as he woke up. “It’s not – we haven’t… You know. Since we’ve been in this rough patch. So…” 

__

“When did you argue?” James asks. He tries to make it sound casual but Jordan knows he’s trying to work it out in his head, and he rolls his eyes at Jordan’s raised eyebrow. “I mean, I never actually asked. When did all this start?” 

__

“Our anniversary,” Jordan says softly. He stares down at his hands, picking at the edges of his nails, because he’s (almost) ashamed. Only of himself, though, because he knows it shouldn’t have taken him this long. He shouldn’t have wasted so much time. It’s the only regret he’s had since he’s been with Virgil. “We didn’t even get to celebrate because of it. So, yeah. Our anniversary.” 

__

“Fucking hell, that’s like – almost two months,” James breathes. He’s frowning at Jordan in disbelief, but not judgement. Never, ever judgement. “No offence, Jord, but have you even _seen_ Virgil? I’m straight and I’d probably jump on him if I was single. But _you_ haven’t had sex with your boyfriend, who looks like that, for almost two months.”

__

Jordan forces a smile onto his face, but he knows it’s weak and strained. “Not even a kiss,” he says quietly, letting his gaze drop again. “He’s been sleeping downstairs on the couch, and I feel like we’ve barely touched.” 

__

“I told you you shouldn’t have turned the spare bedroom into an office,” James says automatically, but then he grimaces and apologises quietly. Jordan doesn’t actually mind it – it distracts him from how bullshit the situation is, because he’s only got himself to blame for it. “If things are alright now, why don’t you just – go for it?”

__

“I don’t know,” Jordan says. It makes him feel miserable, and he slouches down in his seat, staring at the cup of coffee like it holds all the answers. God, he _wishes_. “It’s just like… A mind block. It’s more routine _not_ to do all that physical, intimate stuff with him now, so I just… don’t.” 

__

“Mate,” James says, but it’s more pitiful than Jordan ever wants to hear him ever, ever again. He hates it, hates the fact that his best friend feels sorry for him, because he doesn’t even know the half of it. “I know it’ll be weird when it finally happens for the first time, but you have to. You can’t spend the rest of your life in a relationship with no intimacy just because you’re too scared to give him a kiss. Both of you deserve that, and it’ll probably make things even _better_. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to remember what it’s like?” 

__

“Of course I do,” Jordan says softly. He finally looks up from the dregs of his coffee and sighs, running a hand over his face. He can’t stop thinking about the one thing that’s holding him back, the one thing that’s been racing through his mind for so, so long. “But what if _he_ doesn’t want that? What am I supposed to do if he rejects me?”

__

“He won’t,” James says, patting Jordan’s hand reassuringly. He says it so matter of factly that it makes Jordan feel a little braver, too. He almost believes it, and he straightens his shoulders. “You’re a catch, Jordan. You’re fit, he’s fit, you make an unbelievably fit couple, and I don’t even know why you’re bothering denying each other that. Just enjoy yourself, okay?” 

__

“Okay,” Jordan says determinedly, sitting up properly. He catches James’ eye and grins when his best friend nudges his knee under the table, because he’s _right_. Jordan should be enjoying himself. “Yeah, okay. You’re right. I’m not gonna hold back anymore.”

__

“Good,” Milly says, nodding affirmatively. Then, his smile turns into something cheekier, and he reaches across the table to punch Jordan gently on the shoulder. “Now, what are you still doing here talking to me? Go get him, tiger!” 

__

.

__

“Hey,” Jordan breathes, following the smell of home cooked food and stepping through to the kitchen. Virgil is standing over the cooker, deep in concentration as he stirs something in a saucepan, but he turns with a smile as soon as he hears Jordan’s voice. “Smells good. How are you?” 

__

“I’m good. Missed you,” Virgil says. He gestures apologetically at the stove and pauses to turn all the hobs off, then turns properly to envelope Jordan in a tight hug. They sway on the spot for a moment, stretching out into two, three, four, and Jordan feels like his chest is full. He never thought they’d get back to this point. “You?”

__

“I’m good. I’m really, really good,” Jordan confirms. He pauses for a second, lets Virgil pull a few inches back from the hug, but then decides enough is enough. He’s going to listen to Milly’s advice and put a stop to this nonsense. He stretches up on his tiptoes, one palm curving around Virgil’s cheek to hold him still, and presses a kiss to his mouth. 

__

It’s chaste, barely more than a peck, but it feels like _everything_.

__

“I love you,” Jordan says, noting how Virgil is staring at him in shock. That’s all he needs to say, really. It’s the only explanation, and he feels relieved as he watches Virgil’s face split into a blinding smile. “I love you so, so much.”

__

“I love you, too,” Virgil breathes. He says it like it’s obvious, and he pulls Jordan closer, dropping another closed-mouth kiss onto his lips, and then another, and another. He doesn’t stop until Jordan’s traitorous stomach rumbles between them, and then he pulls away with a laugh, thumb brushing gently over Jordan’s bottom lip. “We’ve got plenty of time for that later. Come on, dinner’s ready.” 

__

Jordan lets him push him towards the table and then into a seat, leaning down to kiss his cheek. It’s even better, he thinks, seeing Virgil finally comfortable again, finally _happy_ , and no longer scared to touch Jordan after so many weeks of his hesitant hands. 

__

He places a plate on the table in front of Jordan, free hand gentle on the back of his neck, then sits opposite him, offering a secretive smile. It says _we-know-something-nobody-else-does_. It says _I-love-you-and-I-don’t-care-who-sees-it_. It says _thank-you-for-letting-me-back-in-I-don’t-ever-want-to-leave-again_. Jordan feels it, deep in his bones, warming him up from the inside out.

__

“Listen,” Jordan says, then pauses to swallow his mouthful of food. Virgil looks- worried, almost, so Jordan smiles reassuringly, nudging Virgil’s foot with his own. “Can we talk after dinner? It’s nothing bad, alright? So you can stop looking at me like that. I just have a few more questions, that’s all.” 

__

“Like what?” Virgil asks, pulling a face. It’s almost like he’s trying to hide how scared he is, like he thinks Jordan’s going to change his mind completely and tell him to get out – despite the fact he’s just kissed him for the first time in what feels like forever. 

__

“Not over the dinner table,” Jordan says gently, rolling his eyes when Virgil huffs. He reaches out and tangles their fingers together, thumb brushing back and forth over each bump of the younger man’s knuckles, and hooks his foot around his ankle. “It’s – it’s nothing bad, I promise. I just want to know some things, okay?” 

__

Virgil doesn’t look too convinced about it, but he nods all the same and drops the subject, eating the rest of his dinner in silence. They’re still holding hands across the table, and Jordan can feel the sharp point of Virgil’s ankle bone digging into his skin, and it’s so, so comforting that it’s actually dizzying. It’s been so long since they even so much as touched, and now he’s finally back where he wanted to be ever since he removed himself from it.

__

It almost hurts when he pulls away, skin feeling awfully cold. Now that he remembers what it feels like to love and to be loved by Virgil, anything less than a casual touch feels like a punishment, but he pushes through it, collecting their plates and taking them into the kitchen.

__

When he gets back, Virgil is sat on the sofa waiting patiently with his hands on his knees. He looks a little bit like a schoolboy about to get told off, and Jordan can’t help but smile imagining it. Virgil, all chubby cheeked and dirt smudged blazer, a third of the height he is now. It’s almost like it’s _real_. Like Jordan has actually known him forever.

__

“What did you want to talk about?” Virgil asks when Jordan sits down next to him. He raises his hand to his mouth to start biting at his nails – something that he only does when he’s anxious – but Jordan catches his fingers and pulls them back down to rest between them instead.

__

“I just– alright, the thought occurred to me when we were eating,” he says, can’t help but sound defensive already. Virgil looks concerned, shifting until he’s sat bolt upright and refusing to look away from Jordan’s eyes, but he doesn’t let Jordan pull his hand away. If anything, he uses it to comfort the older man. “How do you… How do you feed?”

__

“Oh,” Virgil says. He visibly deflates, shoulders slumping as he falls back against the couch, although he seems like he doesn’t know whether to look relieved or half terrified. Jordan doesn’t think he should be either. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

__

“What were you expecting?” Jordan asks. He can’t stop himself from frowning and angles his body towards Virgil, tucking one leg under himself so he can look at the younger man properly. This is a conversation that they need to have, and Virgil deserves his respect enough for him to at least make eye contact. “No, don’t answer that. You’re not getting out of this. How do you feed?”

__

“Do you remember my mate Joel?” Virgil asks, although Jordan can’t really see where he’s going with this. He’s only met him once, bumped into him in the Tesco down the road and had a brief introduction, and Virgil has barely talked about him since. Still, he nods, and Virgil takes a deep breath, reaching out to grasp Jordan’s other hand. “The one who works at the hospital, you know which one I’m talking about. Well – he’s a vampire, too. And he works in the haematology department.” 

__

“If he’s a vampire,” Jordan starts, then hesitates, because how the fuck is he meant to word this? It’s hard to process all of this, but at least he knows that Virgil doesn’t, like, _attack_ anyone. That’s an important thing to know. “How does he not just… Lose control? Around all that blood?” 

__

“We’re not _animals_ , Jordan,” Virgil says. He rolls his eyes but it’s good natured, nudging his knee against Jordan’s thigh playfully. Jordan can feel his cheeks heat up and he tries to pull his hand away, but Virgil doesn’t let go of his fingers. “I’m not sniffing around you all the time like a starving dog whose owner has got steak for dinner, am I?” 

__

“You used to,” Jordan snaps back immediately, but he then realises what he said and the embarrassment sets in. He shakes his head, dead set on pretending it didn’t happen (although he’s still replaying it in his head like a horror film). He changes the subject instead. “Have you ever wanted to feed from me?”

__

“No,” Virgil says. He doesn’t have to think about it, ready straight away with the denial, but he huffs when he sees Jordan’s face fall and nudges his chin gently with his knuckles. “It’s not because of _you_. I’d never hurt you, Jord, you know that. And the thought of biting you –– it’s awful. You smell good… You smell amazing. Best scent in the world, if you ask me. But I’d never, ever hurt you.” 

__

Jordan dips his head, lips quirking up into a smile at the corners, but he looks at Virgil through his lashes and tangles their fingers again. “What do I smell like?” He asks quietly. This is something private. Intimate.

__

“I don’t–” Virgil says. He looks away, to the side – the floor, the wall, the blank TV – anywhere but Jordan, really, and suddenly the atmosphere has gone from light and teasing to awkward and reluctant. Virgil isn’t smiling anymore, and he tries to pull his hands away, but Jordan just tightens his grip. “I don’t think that’s appropriate.” 

__

“You promised,” Jordan says. His voice is low, muted, _angry_ , and he finally lets go of one of Virgil’s hands to grip his chin instead. His fingers dig in at the sharp cut of his jaw, so hard it must hurt, but Virgil just shudders, pupils expanding and irises darkening. “You _promised_ me you’d be honest. Tell me. Answer me.”

__

“Sweet. You smell sweet. Fizzy, almost, like those sour sweets you always sneak in the weekly shop. It’s intoxicating,” Virgil whispers, vulnerable in every way possible. He looks up at Jordan like he’s scared of what he might see written over his face, but he mustn’t see anything bad, because he blows out a low, deep breath and lets the tense line of his shoulders fall. “I just want to bury my face in your neck and let your smell surround me. It makes me feel safe."

__

Jordan can feel the tense lines of his face soften and he loosens the grip he has on Virgil’s chin, sliding his palm to curve around the younger man’s cheek instead. He opens his mouth to say something, _anything_ , but nothing comes out. Virgil’s honesty has left him speechless.

__

Virgil smiles, soft and almost sad, dipping his head so that his nose is brushing against the thin skin on the inside of Jordan’s wrist. It occurs to Jordan then that Virgil smells him all the time, constantly, whether he likes it or not. When Jordan is furious at him and he’s laying down here alone, he can smell him. When Jordan is drunk and trying to kiss him, when they both know he’d just push him away in the morning when he’s sober, he can smell him.

__

There’s no escape.

__

It’s a crushing realisation.

__

“Thank you,” Jordan whispers, brushing his thumb over Virgil’s bottom lip gently. He leans forward until there’s barely a centimetre of space between them and smiles. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

__

And then he closes the gap, kissing Virgil softly, again and again and again until he can’t think about anything else but the man in front of him. 

__

“Are we okay?” Virgil murmurs, pulling away from the kiss – but only barely. He opens his eyes, dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks, and his expression is so serious that it makes Jordan’s heart hurt. He can’t help but dart forward and press another chaste kiss to Virgil’s lips just to try and reassure him.

__

“Of course we are,” Jordan says. He brushes away a stray curl that’s fallen across Virgil’s forehead and then kisses the spot his fingers were just touching, lingering just because he can. “I love you, Virg. You know that. And I promise you that I’m not going to go back on my word, okay? I’m not going to change my mind about you. You’re the love of my life.”

__

Virgil sighs and tries to smile, but it’s strained. It looks like it hurts, if Jordan’s being honest, and he wants nothing more than to take that look off of Virgil’s face. What hurts him hurts Jordan too. “Can I show you something? If you want, I mean,” Virgil says, but it’s rushed and doesn’t make an awful lot of sense. When he speaks again, he sounds almost beautifully earnest. “It’s just – some pictures. From my past. I was looking at them while you were out with Milly, because I’d like you to see them. I’d like to tell you more about my past. I want you to know everything about me.”

__

“I’d love that,” Jordan says, and can’t stop the beaming grin from spreading across his face. Virgil’s smile finally turns real and he leans forward to press a kiss to Jordan’s cheek, before turning and reaching down the side of the couch. When he sits up straight again, he’s holding a wooden box, dark and smooth with delicately carved patterns snaking across the lid.

__

It’s beautiful, clearly handmade and very precious to Virgil, but Jordan knows that whatever is inside is much, much more important. The anticipation is suffocating him. He’s built up snapshots of Virgil’s life in his head – of his mother and his siblings, of Gini, and of his life back in the Netherlands, but to actually see it is something else entirely.

__

“It’s –– I don’t know what you’re expecting, but there might be some things that you don’t like. You have to remember that it was a different time,” Virgil says quietly, running his hand across the top of the box. He looks up at Jordan with wide, honest eyes, and doesn’t break contact. “Is that okay?” 

__

“I mean, I haven’t got a choice, have I?” Jordan says. He raises his arm so that Virgil can tuck himself against his side, head under Jordan’s chin. It’s a little awkward given that Virgil is a good few inches taller than Jordan, but it’s nice. Warm, and everything smells like the familiar scent of Virgil’s cologne. “I want to know everything about you, Virg. The good, the bad, and everything in between. I don’t care if it hurts. I want to know.”

__

“Okay,” Virgil breathes, fingertips sliding across the wood to linger over the gold clasp. It feels almost ceremonious, watching him flick it open and then lift the wooden lid, and when the box is open, Virgil seems to let out the breath he’d been holding. Jordan feels his own lungs deflate gratefully. 

__

Jordan can’t help but smile at the picture on top of the pile. He recognises Virgil instantly, although he’s only about five or six years old and barely comes up to his mother’s hip. It’s just his _smile_ , so familiar and still making Jordan feel warm from the inside out. He presses his own into the side of Virgil’s forehead as he kisses his temple gently.  
§  
“You’ve not changed one bit,” he murmurs. He can’t resist pressing another kiss to Virgil’s skin because he’s just so _overwhelmed_. He’d never, ever dared to ask about Virgil’s childhood, even before he knew about him being a vampire, because he was always aware that he’d had it difficult. For some reason, asking about it… It felt like Jordan was intruding. He’d always known that he hadn’t owned that part of Virgil.

__

“Just after my sixth birthday,” Virgil breathes. His thumb comes up to trace the side of his mother’s face and Jordan watches the movement, heart aching from how delicate it is. He thinks about Virgil longing to see her again, living without her for decades longer than most people do, and suddenly loves him so much it leaves him feeling sick. “The war hadn’t long been over. My mum was still worried, but she’d never show it in front of us. Me, my brother, and my sister. Dad was still with us at this point, but – he was fucking useless. He may as well have left, for how much time he actually spent with us.” 

__

“Were you happy?” Jordan asks simply, because now he _does_ own that part. Virgil’s happiness is all that really matters, and Jordan needs him to know that. Jordan needs him to know that he’d give him every single thing he deserves, if he could.

__

“The happiest,” Virgil says, and his cheeks flush as if to prove his point. He shuffles through the photos until he finds the one he’s looking for, one where he’s about the same age, sitting on his mother’s lap and smiling at her like she’s the only thing in the world. “My dad left a few months after that and I never saw him again, but I didn’t really want to. We didn’t have much, you know? Mum was looking after all three of us on a seamstress’ wages, but we never went without. She was an incredible woman. I wish she could see us now. She would have loved you.” 

__

“I think she’d be dead proud of you,” Jordan says. He brushes the backs of his fingers down the length of Virgil’s jaw just because he can, because he’s allowed, because he _wants_ to. When he speaks again, his tone is teasing. “Finally settling down after all this time, eh?” 

__

Virgil smiles, but it’s weak and not entirely convincing. He takes one look at Jordan’s concerned face and sighs, reaching up to press a gentle kiss to the older man’s cheek. “She knew I was different,” he whispers, looking down at his hands. “I think she knew that I’m –– that I like boys. Everybody else would’ve kicked off, but not her. She didn’t mind. She kept making little comments about Gini, after she met him, so she either knew or fancied him herself.” 

__

Jordan hums and drops a chaste kiss to the crown of Virgil’s head, tightening the arm around his shoulders in a half hug. “Show me Gini,” he says decisively, realising that Virgil is too choked up to think about his mother anymore. He wants to know, of course he does, but he doesn’t want Virgil to be in pain just for his sake. “I’d love to be able to put a face to the name.”

__

That seems to make Virgil feel a little better. He breathes out slowly and smiles slightly up at Jordan, but it’s tiny, not quite the real thing. It makes Jordan's heart hurt. "Here," Virgil says, shuffling through the pile and pulling out a particular photo. "This was -- 1932, I think. I'd only known him for a few months at this point."

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The first thing that Jordan notices is Gini's smile, blindingly bright even though the grey tones of the picture. It's infectious, and he feels his own mouth curve up into a tiny grin. He feels the love, that Virgil had for Gini and that Gini had for Virgil, even though the thin paper of the photograph. It feels so _real_ , and obviously it was real once upon a time, but Jordan feels like he could be there. He doesn't think things would be any different if he was.

__

It's Virgil and Gini, just the two of them, sitting in a near-empty bar. There's a bottle of whisky on the table in front of them and Virgil has a cigarette resting between two fingers, laughing at whatever Gini is saying. He looks barely any different to how he looks now - a few years younger, maybe, and his hair is fluffier, longer - but still so gorgeous that it steals the breath from Jordan's lungs.

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"Is this back at home?" He murmurs, delicately taking the photo from Virgil's hands. He wants a closer look, because he can't take his eyes off of this Virgil. It's _his_ Virgil, the exact same one, just -- eighty odd years ago. It's fascinating. 

__

"Holland, yeah," Virgil says. He's noticed Jordan's fascination and turns his head to watch his face rather than look at the picture, and when that gets too much, he presses his smile into the line of Jordan's jaw and kisses the spot he touched not even a few seconds before. "Not Breda, though. I'd moved to Rotterdam about six months before this was taken. Mum didn't want me to, but I was nineteen. I wasn't going to listen to her if it meant giving up my dream, was I?"

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"Why did you move?" Jordan asks, finally turning his attention away from the photo and towards the real thing, the one that's in his arms right now. Virgil is looking at him with something bright shining in his eyes, and Jordan knows that it's pure, unadulterated love. The kind that's impossible to hide. "What did you do in Rotterdam?"

__

"I wrote," Virgil says simply, tucking his head back in the gap between Jordan's neck and shoulder. He searches through the pictures for a second and makes a triumphant noise, replacing the one in Jordan's hand with a few loose sheets of yellowed paper. It's Virgil's handwriting, clear as day, in a language that Jordan knows is Dutch but still can't read. It's dated at the top, _10/12/1932_. "It's what I've always done. Newspapers, books, leaflets. Journalist. Novelist. Writing is the only thing that's been a constant throughout my life. It was the only thing I could rely on - until I met you."

__

"I want you to always be able to rely on me," Jordan whispers. He curves his palm around Virgil's haw and tilts his head up so he can press a kiss to his mouth, soft but lingering, saying everything that his words can't. He's no good at talking about his feelings, and he's really no good with words - after all, Virgil is the writer - but he can show him how he feels. He can show him like this any time he wants now. "I love you." 

__

"I love you too," Virgil murmurs, smiling against Jordan's lips. He seems happier than he has been in a while, despite the fact he's been dragged back through all of his emotions, and Jordan is so, so glad to see it. For a while there, he thought he'd lost it forever.

__

He gently takes the pile of photos out of Virgil's hand and flicks through them himself. There's plenty of Gini, smiling and radiant in every single one, and some with Virgil's mother, always looking at her son like nothing else in the world exists. There's even a few of Virgil on his own, looking pensive next to canals or in his room grinning at the person behind the camera, and really, looking at old photos isn't that big of a deal within a relationship, but it feels like the most intimate thing Virgil could possibly share with him.

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The last one in the pile is different to all of the others, though. Jordan can tell immediately. 

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It's still Virgil, but in this one he's standing up straight, mouth in a straight line and eyes hard. He's not as relaxed as he is in all the others, not as happy, and he's standing next to a man who is shorter than him, with graying hair and a stern expression.

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Jordan doesn't know who he is, but he knows that he doesn't like him. His blood runs cold and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "Who is he?" He asks, voice low, and feels Virgil stiffen in his arms.

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"It doesn't matter," Virgil says. He speaks in the same tone as Jordan did, and it makes the older man feel sick. He can't help but jump when Virgil snatches the photo from his fingers but then he feels his muscles tense again, and he curls his fingers around Virgil's cheek just so he can force him to make eye contact. "Leave it."

__

"Who is he?" Jordan asks again. He can practically see Virgil shut down; his eyes go hard and his mouth curls up in a sneer, like he wants to bare his teeth, but (thankfully) he doesn't. Jordan's heart sinks, and he rubs his thumb along Virgil's left shoulder. "What did he do to you, love? What did he do?"

__

Virgil lets out a noise, a furious one that Jordan has never, ever heard in his life, and rips the photo in half, and then quarters. He's breathing heavily when it's done, staring at the pieces of paper in his shaking hand. "I told you to leave it," he says softly, but tears himself away from Jordan's body and stands. He's looking out of the window – even though it's dark enough that there isn't anything to see right now – with his back to Jordan, and the line of his shoulders is trembling.

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"Virg," Jordan whispers, unfolding himself and rising to his feet. His stomach feels heavy and the nausea is rolling in waves, and he reaches out to touch the younger man. Virgil flinches away, physically recoils, and Jordan drops his hand. 

__

"I just– I just need some space," Virgil says. Jordan watches his reflection in the window, watches him wipe his hand across his nose and swallow around the lump in his throat, watches him meet Jordan's eyes in the reflection and then let his gaze skitter away, like a terrified animal that doesn't know how to approach a human when it needs help. "Please, Jord. I need some space."

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"Okay," Jordan says, letting out the breath he's been holding. He brushes the tips of his fingers across Virgil's shoulders just because he aches to touch. "I'm so, so sorry, love. I'm sorry."

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And then he turns and leaves, heart in his throat and tears in his eyes.

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.

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_Virgil brushes his nose against Jordan's._

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_"You'll never know how much you mean to me," he whispers._

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_He kisses Jordan, soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the look on his face._

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_Breathes, "you're the only person I can rely on."_

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_Curls a palm around his cheek and leans in close, until their skin is touching, embers sparking._

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_"I love you," he murmurs. He runs a hand through Jordan's hair. "So much it hurts."_

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_And then his teeth sink into Jordan's throat, like a knife through butter, and the planets finally align._

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.

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The click of the door startles Jordan awake, and he sits up, rubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes. He didn't mean to fall asleep, but giving Virgil some time to think… God. He'd laid down, and every possible scenario of what could upset Virgil that much started running through his mind. It was unbearable, and he squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could. He must have dozed off at some point between those awful daydreams, but he couldn't pinpoint when.

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"Sorry," Virgil says regretfully, one hand still on the door handle. He looks so apologetic, eyebrows furrowed in a frown and mouth turned down at the corners, but also _sad_. Jordan feels drawn to him, wants to curl himself around him until he starts smiling again. "I didn't mean to wake you. I can leave you to go back to sleep, if you want."

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"No," Jordan says, voice rough with sleep. He clears his throat and pulls back the corner of the duvet, patting the space next to him. Virgil seems to hesitate, so Jordan smiles reassuringly at him and smooths his hand over the mattress. "Come here, come on. I want you here. What's up?"

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Virgil looks between Jordan’s hand and his face for a moment, and it’s then that he realises – _oh, I’m inviting him back into the bed. Into_ our _bed_ – but keeps his smile up. That seems to be enough for Virgil, because he slides under the duvet and lays his head on the pillow, one hand tucked under his cheek and the other curling over Jordan’s hip.

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“I just –” he starts, then cuts himself off and takes a deep breath. His voice sounds awfully choked. “– I just want to explain why I got so upset earlier. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.” 

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Jordan sits, watches him through half lidded eyes because it really does feel like a sight to behold. He loves him, fiercely and all consuming, and it takes his breath away. He slides down until he’s lying on his side, so close to Virgil that their noses are brushing, and tangles their fingers together, hands resting between them. He doesn’t think he can remember the last time he felt this content.

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All the pieces are finally slotting back into place.

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“You know you can tell me anything,” Jordan whispers. Virgil’s eyes flutter shut, lashes sweeping almost sadly against his cheeks, and he swallows, but at least he doesn’t pull away. That’s more than Jordan expected. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I want to know. I want to be there for you. I would never judge you, Virgil. I love you – all of you.” 

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“I know,” Virgil murmurs. He finally opens his eyes again and they’re shining with emotion, but he smiles gratefully at Jordan. It’s tight-lipped, but at least it’s something, and he pulls Jordan’s hand up to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. “It’s just… it’s hard to talk about. I will tell you, I promise. You just need to… be patient. That’s all.” 

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“Of course,” Jordan says, voice low and quiet. Private. It feels like whatever is about to happen is going to be huge, but still so intimate, and Jordan is trying his hardest not to scare Virgil off. He inches closer to catch Virgil’s mouth in a soft kiss, barely there but comforting (he hopes). “Take all the time you need, okay? I’ll always wait for you.” 

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“The guy in the picture,” Virgil says, but he doesn’t get any further than that before he’s choking back a sob. A stray tear escapes from the corner of his eye and Jordan thumbs it away, kissing his forehead, but he doesn’t say anything. He waits for Virgil to continue. “His name was Pellegrino. Mauricio Pellegrino. I worked with him for a while in Rotterdam.” 

__

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“Okay,” Jordan murmurs just so Virgil knows he’s listening, brushing his thumb across Virgil’s cheekbone. Patience has never been his strong point, not really, but for Virgil, he’ll do anything. He’d wait forever and a day if he had to, silent and unmoving. He’d do anything.

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But this time, he doesn’t have to.

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“He was a vampire,” Virgil whispers. It’s barely audible, and Jordan has to strain to hear him, but once he starts talking, it’s almost like he can’t stop it. “He was a novelist, and I shadowed him for a while. He was a vampire, I knew that from the beginning. But he didn’t tell me – Gini pointed it out. Gini didn’t like seeing other vampires keeping it a secret, not from people that are supposed to matter, so he’d always tell me. Pellegrino was a vampire.

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“He hated Gini. Not because of that, not because he told me about Pellegrino’s big secret. He hated Gini because of how close we were. He was _jealous_ , can you imagine that? Jealous of my best friend, like he thought he was anything similar. He wasn’t. He wasn’t even remotely close, but I know he wanted to be – more, more than even _that_.” 

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“Why did you stay with him?” Jordan asks softly, tangling their fingers again. Their hands rest between them, close enough to Jordan’s chest that Virgil must be able to feel his heart thumping against his skin, but he doesn’t react.

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“Because it was 1933,” Virgil says with a wry smile. He’s staring into the distance like he’s back there, and Jordan hates that he doesn’t know how to fix it. “It was during the worst time of the depression. Nobody had any money, and paying me wasn’t very high up on their list of priorities. Pretty sure he only hired me because he thought I’d sleep with him, but – you know me. You know I’d never.” 

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“I’m sorry,” Jordan says with a sigh, stroking his thumb over the back of Virgil’s knuckles. He has nothing else to offer apart from apologies, but he knows it’s not good enough. He knows his words can’t change things. “I’m sorry that you felt you had no other choice. You shouldn’t have to suffer in the way that you did.” 

__

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“You don’t even know the half of it,” Virgil laughs, but it’s cruel and empty, and not like him in the slightest. “The way he used to talk to me –– the way he used to talk _about_ me. I’d be in the room, standing right next to him, and he wouldn’t even acknowledge me. He’d call me _the boy_ and it made me feel sick. Every time he looked at me, my skin would crawl. I was just – a piece of meat to him. He basically only paid me because he wanted to fuck me. That was it. That was him all over.” 

__

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“What did you do?” Jordan asks, because Virgil is right. He does know what he’s like, and he knows that he’d never, ever stand for that, and it terrifies him – but only because of what it would do to Virgil’s mind. “What did _he_ do?” 

__

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“You really want to know?” Virgil says, and that awfully numb smile is back. It makes the hairs on the back of Jordan’s neck stand on end. “He found out that I was planning on handing in my resignation. I was meant to go travelling with Gini – remember when I told you before, when I first told you about Gini – and he somehow found out, I don’t know. I don’t know how he found out, but he was furious. Said I wasn’t allowed, and I told him it wasn’t his choice. He punched me, and then Gini came in the room to see what all the commotion was about. 

__

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“And he killed him, Jord. That’s the last thing I remember as a human – watching Gini die. Right in front of me. He _killed_ him, because he said if he couldn’t have me then no one could. It was awful. It was – horrific, Jordan. I remember it like it was yesterday, and it broke my heart. And the next thing I know, I’m waking up to Pellegrino stroking my hair and telling me we can be together now, forever. He told me that we didn’t have anything in our way anymore, because Gini was dead, and I was a vampire. Immortal.” 

__

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“What did you do?” Jordan repeats, because he doesn’t know if he could ask anything else. His heart is beating so fast that Virgil must be able to hear it.

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“I love you, remember that. No matter what – I love you,” Virgil whispers, tightening his grip on Jordan’s hand. There are tears glinting in his eyes, mouth in a straight line. “And that’s why I have to be honest with you. I killed him, Jordan. I killed Pellegrino.” 

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“Fuck,” Jordan breathes. He searches within himself, for any kind of fear, hatred, or anything negative at all – but comes up empty handed. All he feels is pity, sympathy, and most of all, love. He slides his arm under Virgil’s shoulder and pulls him close.

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“I don’t regret it. I killed him because he killed Gini, he took my best friend away from me, and then he took my own fucking _life_ away from me. He _expected_ me to answer to him for the rest of eternity,” Virgil spits, tucking his face into Jordan’s neck like he’s trying to hide from the world. “I'd only been with him for eight months. He barely knew me. Eight months, and he thought he owned me. But he didn't. He didn't own me. Gini didn't own me, either, but the difference is that I wanted to go with him. The only person that's ever owned me, though –– is you."

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“I’m sorry,” Jordan whispers. His voice is hoarse and his eyes are wet, and he presses a kiss to the crown of Virgil’s head. He can feel his own heart breaking in his chest. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that on your own, love. But not anymore, okay? Not anymore. I’ve got you, Virgil. I’ve got you.” 

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Virgil is crying now, proper wracking sobs that are making his shoulders shake, and Jordan feels awfully, utterly helpless. The only thing he can do is rub soothing circles into the younger man’s back and murmur reassurances. 

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“I promised myself a long, long time ago that I’d never turn anyone,” he manages to gasp out. His breath is rasping and wet on Jordan’s neck. “I’d never want to put anyone through what that sick fuck put me through. I couldn’t do it. I _won’t_.” 

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“You don’t have to, babe,” Jordan murmurs, freeing up the hand that was holding Virgil’s and cradling the back of his head instead. He pulls back enough so that he can kiss his forehead, letting his mouth linger there. “You’ll never have to turn anyone. You don’t need to worry about that, I swear.” 

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Virgil nods, and Jordan can feel the movement against his skin. There’s nothing else to say, nothing else to do, so he just simply holds Virgil and waits for him to calm down. He understands why he’s so upset, of course he does, because the whole situation must have been so awfully traumatising, but he can’t fix it. He can’t take the pain away, no matter how much he wishes he could. 

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“Now you know everything,” Virgil whispers flatly when the tears have finally stopped falling, and he pulls out of Jordan’s embrace to lay on his back and stare at the ceiling. The lack of contact makes him shiver. “You can cut your losses and make a run for it. I wouldn’t blame you.”

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“I’m not going anywhere,” Jordan says fiercely, rising on his elbow to stare down at Virgil. He cups his cheek, thumb brushing delicately under his eye. “I love you, okay? I don’t blame you for what you did. Fuck –– if someone took James away from me, I know I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions. And that man tried to _trap you_ , Virgil. He tried to keep you prisoner, and he knew what he was doing. You did what you had to do to survive, okay? I understand that, and I understand how much it has hurt you. I still love you all the same.” 

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“How,” Virgil asks, but it’s not really a question. The tone of his voice doesn’t change; he just stares up at Jordan with awfully sad, bottomless eyes, and rolls his lower lip into his mouth. “How can you still love me. After what I just told you.” 

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“Because you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” Jordan whispers, brushing a stray curl off of Virgil’s forehead. He lowers his head to kiss Virgil, sweet little pecks that make his chest ache to pull away from. “I don’t know where I’d be without you, Virg. I don’t think I’ve said this yet, but I’m sorry if I ever made you doubt that. It shouldn’t have taken me so long to realise that I wanted to be with you, because you’re the only person that’s ever really mattered to me. You’re so different to everyone else. You’re –– you’re my soulmate, and I love you. I just wish you understood that.”

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“I do,” Virgil whispers. There are tears shining in his eyes and he swallows around the lump in his throat, hand coming up so his fingertips can trace the line of Jordan’s mouth. “I do understand that. It’s just… It’s hard to believe it, sometimes.” 

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“Then let me show you,” Jordan murmurs, smiling down at Virgil. He leans down and kisses him, palm curving around his jaw. Virgil kisses back, a little hesitant and definitely muted, but at least he’s _there_. His hands come up to grip Jordan’s waist tightly, fingers tangling in the material of his t-shirt. “Let me prove it. I don’t want you to have any doubts.”

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"Okay," Virgil breathes, looking up at Jordan from beneath his lashes. If Jordan didn't know any better, he'd say his cheeks were slightly pink from a blush. He wants to touch, so he does, tips of his fingers brushing over the roundness of Virgil’s cheek, tracing the curve like it’s the first time he’s really seeing him.

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It feels like it. It genuinely, honestly feels like it’s the first time Jordan has seen him. He’s come to the surface, taken a deep breath, and opened his eyes, and he’s _seen_ Virgil, and he wants him. He wants him so much it hurts.

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He shifts until he’s hovering over Virgil, one thigh tucked snugly between his and the other brushing against his waist. He can’t remember the last time he looked at Virgil from this angle, can’t remember ever feeling so needy from it, and he can’t help but let out a soft gasp when Virgil’s hand slides under his t-shirt and onto his bare skin.

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“I love you,” he whispers, easing the band from around Virgil’s bun and letting his hair loose. He buries his hand in the curls and leans down to press kiss after kiss after kiss to Virgil’s mouth, and when the tension has finally eased from the younger man’s muscles, he kisses him again. Just once, for good measure, and properly this time – his tongue brushes against the seam of Virgil’s mouth and then curls inside of it when he parts his lips. Virgil’s grip on his body tightens. “I love you so, so much.” 

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“I love you too,” Virgil murmurs, following Jordan’s mouth when he pulls away. Jordan smiles because he can’t do anything else; not when his heart is beating almost painfully against his ribs, not when Virgil is beneath him looking like he was made for Jordan and Jordan alone. He concedes, and kisses him, and swallows every little gasp and moan and whimper that Virgil lets out.

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Virgil’s eyes are dark – not the kind of dark they were in each and every one of those dreams, but enough that it makes a shiver travel down Jordan’s spine, and he presses in close. He can feel Virgil’s dick against his thigh, hard and hot even through several layers of clothing, and his spine arches like his body is trying to get more.

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“I want you,” he whispers, and feels the slow breath that Virgil lets out warm the skin of his neck. He plans a line of sloppy kisses against the younger man’s jaw and lets his teeth graze over the hinge of it, slowly rolling his hips against Virgil’s. “Want you so much. You have no idea.” 

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But Virgil is barely responding. His hands are curled around Jordan’s waist but his touch is light like he’s afraid he’s going to break him, and his breathing is heavy and uneven but he barely kisses back. He just lays there and takes it, and when Jordan pulls away, he doesn’t move, just lets out harsh little breaths and keeps his eyes closed. 

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“Virg?” Jordan asks, voice barely above a whisper. Virgil swallows, throat shifting in a way that Jordan wants to feel under his mouth, but he keeps himself in check and brushes his thumb just under Virgil’s eye instead. He can’t stop his voice from breaking when he speaks again. “What’s – what’s wrong? What did I do? Don’t you want me anymore?”

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“Of course I do,” Virgil says quietly. He finally opens his eyes but stares at a spot just over Jordan’s shoulder, and the older man sits up, wiping his hand across his mouth. Virgil follows, rising until his back is resting against the headboard, and then he finally looks at Jordan, reaching out to tangle their fingers together. Jordan is pretty sure he can see Virgil’s heart breaking in his eyes, but then he stares down at their joined hands and Jordan’s not so sure anymore. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

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“What?” Jordan breathes. He can’t do anything but sit and stare at Virgil, shellshocked with a dropped jaw, and he knows they must look ridiculous having a conversation like this in such a state – his dick is still straining at his jeans, not quite ready to give up just yet, and Virgil’s hair is a complete mess – but he doesn’t care. He just wants to get to the bottom of this.

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“I’m scared that I’m going to hurt you, Jord,” Virgil whispers, looking up from underneath his eyelashes. His mouth is downturned at the corners, lips bitten pink, and Jordan can’t help but smile at how endearing he looks. 

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“You’ve always been a vampire, even when I didn’t know,” Jordan counters softly, levelling his gaze with Virgil’s. He curls his free hand around his cheek, making sure that he can’t look away. “And you never hurt me then, did you? A whole year of us having sex – more than that, really, if you count the first night we met – and you didn’t hurt me once. You’re not going to hurt me just because I know that you’re a vampire now, babe.” 

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“But what if––” Virgil starts, but Jordan interrupts him by putting his index finger against his lips and then leaning forward to kiss him softly. He eases himself off the bed and then grabs Virgil’s other hand, using all of his strength to pull the younger man with him. It’s not too difficult, and Virgil comes easily enough, but he looks more than confused. 

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“No more what ifs,” Jordan says, softly. He’s chastising Virgil, but – mockingly, mostly, and he taps the end of Virgil’s nose as he drags him into the bathroom. He stands in front of the mirror, with his back to Virgil and Virgil right behind him, and meets his gaze in the reflection. “I want you to see that there is nothing you could do to me that I wouldn’t want. I want you to _see_ it. I want you to see _me_.”

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“Are- are you sure?” Virgil asks. His eyes are a little clearer now but he’s still hesitant, rolling his bottom lip into his mouth even as he places a hand on Jordan’s hip. They look incredible together, Jordan thinks, and it’s been a long time since he’s seen himself and Virgil like this, but he didn’t realise how much he missed it. They fit together like pieces of a puzzle, but then again, he supposes that’s what soulmates are supposed to be like.

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“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life,” he says, tilting his chin up. It’s a challenge but also a show of strength: so that Virgil knows that he isn’t second guessing his decision, so that he knows he’s doing it because he _wants_ to. There’s nothing else now. Just this. “I want you.” 

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Virgil tilts his head until his nose is brushing against Jordan’s temple and then closes his eyes, turning to press a kiss to his cheek. “Okay,” he whispers, breathing out slowly as Jordan grips his hand and slides it under his t-shirt. “Okay.” 

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When Virgil opens his eyes again, they’re impossibly dark and staring right at Jordan. The intensity of Virgil’s gaze makes him shiver, and he uses his fingers wrapped around the back of Virgil’s hand to pull his own t-shirt up. The tips of his fingers drag slowly like he’s trying to make the most of it, causing sparks to fly off of Jordan’s skin.

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He pulls away, just slightly, so he can wrestle the t-shirt over his head, and then stares at Virgil until he gets the hint. He watches the swift movement, watches Virgil’s muscles shift so smoothly and so gracefully until every inch of his perfect skin is on show. He steps in close again, close enough that his chest is pressed against Jordan’s back, and he can’t help but let out a little noise from the base of his throat at the contact. 

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“I’ve missed this,” he says, tilting his head to the side so Virgil can nuzzle into his neck. He’s still got his eyes on the mirror though, still watching when his hand spiders across Jordan’s ribs and up his chest. His fingers catch on Jordan’s left nipple, thumb brushing over it teasingly, while his free hand rests hot and heavy just above the waistband of his jeans. “Missed you. Dreamt about it, about you touching me, kissing me. It’s all I’ve wanted for so long, and now I’ve got you back. I’ve finally got you back.” 

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“I’m not going anywhere,” Virgil murmurs, kissing the thick vein that runs up Jordan’s throat. They can both feel his pulse fluttering there, _thump-thump-thump-thump_ so fast he almost feels breathless, but if it’s affecting Virgil, he doesn’t show it. He just catches Jordan’s nipple properly and rolls it between his fingers, drawing out a high pitched whine from the older man. “Not while you still want me.”

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“I’ve always – _fuck_ ,” Jordan hisses, rolling his hips back against Virgil’s. He doesn’t mean to, but he needs to feel the friction. The movement makes Virgil’s hand slip lower, and the tips of his fingers inch under the waistband of Jordan’s jeans. “I’ve always wanted you, Virg. Always.”

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Virgil smiles, pressing it into the meat of Jordan’s shoulder, and then his thumb flicks the button open on Jordan’s jeans, pulling the zip down painfully, teasingly slowly. It’s a relief, not to have the pressure of the tight denim against his dick, and he lets his head drop back against Virgil’s chest as the younger man slides the material down his thighs. 

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He kicks them off, somewhere towards the corner, and leans back into Virgil’s body as soon as he can like he wouldn’t survive being apart from him. Right now, it feels like he would, feels like he’s on fire and Virgil lit the match, and he moans when Virgil’s fingers slide under the waistband of his boxers. 

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This time it’s intentional. 

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All the breath is stolen from his lungs when Virgil finally curls his fingers into a loose fist around his dick, thumb pressing hard against the vein on the underside. It makes him feel dizzy, letting out a low whine as he tucks his head under Virgil’s chin. He feels safe, cradled against the younger man’s body, and Virgil is still watching him in the mirror. He doesn’t need to look at himself, he knows how he looks – chest flushed, dick curved upwards proudly, mouth parted – but he can’t take his eyes off of Virgil.

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There’s something infinitely sexier about watching Virgil watch him, because they’ve never quite seen each other like this before. Never in the full glory. He’s never felt Virgil’s eyes on his entire body all at once, but now he has, he doesn’t want to see anything else ever again. He feels so loved, chest full and ready to burst at the seams, making tears prick at his eyes and a lump form in his throat. For the first time in his life, he feels like the centre of somebody’s universe. 

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“I love you,” he breathes, choking on the words when Virgil starts jacking his fist. His thumb swipes over the head just as he flattens his tongue along the line of Jordan’s shoulder, and when his teeth start gently digging into the muscle there, the older man cries out. Even though it’s not his sharp canines, it’s so close to what his brain conjured up, the dreams, the hopes, the _wishes_ , and he drives his hips back just to listen to the gasp it drags out of Virgil’s mouth.

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“I love you too,” Virgil murmurs, right against Jordan’s skin. He licks soothingly over the dark bruises that are starting to form, twisting his wrist when Jordan curls his fingers around his arm, just because he needs something to hold on to. But it’s so much, _too much_ , and he regretfully eases Virgil’s arm away until his palm is no longer in his boxers, but flat against his stomach. “Are you okay?” 

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“I’m perfect,” Jordan says, meeting Virgil’s eyes in the mirror again. He watches Virgil’s heaving chest, watches his glittering eyes and wet mouth and messy hair and decides that enough is enough. He knows what he wants and is going to get it, and purposefully drags his arse against Virgil’s dick when he reaches over to the drawers by the side of the counter to find the lube. “Now fuck me.”

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(He’d thrown it in there not long after he’d found out about Virgil being a vampire. He was heartbroken and sickened, not sure if he was ever going to be using it again – not with this man, anyway – and for some strange reason, it _hurt_ to look at it. It made something crack open in his chest, wide and aching, and he couldn’t bear it. So he tucked it away in the bathroom drawer like he was trying to forget it was there, but he was always, always aware of it).

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“Okay, bossy,” Virgil murmurs, but he’s smirking and his grip on Jordan’s skin tightens. His eyelashes flutter gorgeously and his tongue darts out to wet his lips when Jordan purposely, carefully puts the lube in his hand. It feels ceremonious, almost, and he holds his breath when he feels Virgil’s other hand retract from his body.

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He barely hears the click of the lid over the buzzing in his ears, but he’s so aware of Virgil and everything he does that it cuts through everything else. He spine tenses in anticipation, muscles aching from how desperately he wants it, but Virgil kisses the back of his neck, catching his gaze in the mirror again.

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“Relax,” he whispers, one hand trailing down Jordan’s back, and the older man does as he’s told, focusing on letting go, one muscle at a time. When Virgil is happy, he makes a small, positive noise, and his fingers trace down the crease of Jordan’s arse. They’re cold and wet and he flinches away, but Virgil’s other arm curls around his ribs, hand resting on his chest. There’s nowhere for Jordan to go. “I’ve got you.” 

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He nods because that’s all he can do, and blows out a deep breath when the tips of Virgil’s fingers circle his hole. It’s been so long that he’s almost buzzing with anticipation, but when Virgil slides his index finger in up to the first knuckle, he melts back against the younger man’s chest. The intimacy, the closeness – he’s missed it so much it brings tears to his eyes.

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“Alright?” Virgil asks, always asks, always checks because he’s so careful. Jordan’s not sure how he ever doubted that Virgil loved him, because he’s never felt anything like this in his entire life. He’s never had anyone that’s cared about him in the way that Virgil does.

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“Yes,” Jordan murmurs, because Virgil likes to hear the confirmation. He rocks back against Virgil’s hand, impatient as ever, but Virgil tuts and pinches his nipple gently. _Calm down_ , is what he’s saying, and Jordan reluctantly does what he’s told. “Please, Virg. I’m okay. I know it’s been a while but I’m ready for this. I’m ready for _you_. More – please, more.” 

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Virgil searches his eyes for a second but seems satisfied, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before sliding his finger all the way in. Jordan can’t help but sigh, contented and blissed out, turning to catch Virgil’s mouth with his own. The kiss is wet and messy and off centred, and Virgil’s teeth knock painfully against Jordan’s bottom lip, but it’s perfect all the same, and Virgil slides a second finger in while Jordan isn’t expecting it.

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This one hurts. Well, it’s less painful and more of a sting, a burning stretch that Jordan likes. He likes it and he wants to feel it afterwards, wants to feel it tomorrow, too. He wants to feel it because he wants the reminder of what happened, and he breaks the kiss with a gasp when Virgil scissors his fingers gradually.

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It’s obscene, really. He’s still wearing his boxers, although they’re getting uncomfortable now there’s a wet spot at the front from the tip of his dick and the room is becoming damp from the humidity, and Virgil is half dressed behind him, and all he wants is _more_. He wants Virgil inside him, wants to hear every little noise he lets out, wants to feel every tremble of his muscles. He’s waited so long for it, and now it’s finally his again.

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He manages to tear his gaze away from Virgil’s and turns his head to watch the younger man’s face, up close and in full definition. He’s beautiful, every single part of him – from the birthmark under his eye to his swollen lips, from the sweep of his eyelashes to the freckles scattered across his nose – and Jordan feels so lucky that he gets to call Virgil his.

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“I’m ready,” he says suddenly, turning back to face the mirror. Virgil doesn’t look convinced, reflection frowning back at Jordan, but at this point he knows not to argue. “Please, I’m ready. I want you. I want you and nothing else. _Please_.” 

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“Okay,” Virgil breathes, but he stalls for another minute just to hook his fingers and press the tips of them against Jordan’s prostate. The older man lets out a noise that’s something between a moan and a whimper, one that he’s never heard himself make before, and his dick twitches visibly where it’s trapped in his boxers. He’s more than ready at this point. 

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Virgil pulls his fingers out and wipes them on his joggers, rolling his eyes at the disgusted face Jordan makes, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of both them and his boxers and slides them down his hips, stepping out of them with far more grace than Jordan could possibly muster right now. 

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“You definitely want this?” Virgil asks, breath ghosting over the back of Jordan’s neck as his fingers curl into the material of Jordan’s briefs. That seed of insecurity is still there even though this is the most confident Jordan has seen Virgil for a long, long time, and it makes his heart ache. 

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“Of course I do,” he whispers. He turns his head, palm coming up to cup Virgil’s jaw, and kisses him roughly, before biting gently at his bottom lip. It’s enough for Virgil, who nods and carries on, pushing Jordan’s boxers down to his thighs before pulling away to slick up his dick. The sounds are obscene, enough for a drop of precome to slide down the tip of Jordan’s cock, and although he can’t actually watch the gorgeous sight of it because of the angle, seeing the muscles of Virgil’s bicep ripple under his skin is more than enough. “Wait, stop for a sec.” 

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The bunched up material of his boxers is getting uncomfortable against his sweat-slicked skin and he pushes them further down his legs, until he can kick them away. Virgil looks concerned, so concerned until he realises what the problem is, and then huffs out a reluctant laugh.

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“You scared me,” he says, gently slapping Jordan’s bare arse with the open palm of his free hand. There’s no force in it and it doesn’t hurt, but the sound of it echoes around the bathroom, bouncing off the tiles, and a moan tears from deep in Jordan’s chest. He’s never, ever heard himself make that noise before, and his head snaps up, meeting Virgil’s gaze in the mirror. Virgil looks just as shocked as him, and sounds considerably more turned on when he speaks again. “Fuck. That was…” 

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“Fuck me,” Jordan demands, and the tone of his voice leaves no room for interpretation. He doesn’t care how needy he sounds, how desperate, because he needs Virgil and he needs him now, and he’s so fucking tired of waiting. He’s so tired of pretending that he doesn’t want it, that he doesn’t need it. He feels like he’s going to go insane if he has to wait for a single second longer. 

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Virgil nods, lining himself up against Jordan’s hole and then pressing forward until the head of his dick slides in. He inches in until he’s bottomed out, until his chest is sticking to Jordan’s back, until his breath is hot on Jordan’s neck. He seems just as speechless as Jordan, like they’ve both been lost for so long but now are finally found. Like two halves of one whole, finally reunited. 

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“Move,” Jordan whispers, although it’s not as demanding as before. He doesn’t have it in him, not when he’s breathless and burning up from the inside out, but he starts grinding his hips back against Virgil’s just to get the point across. That’s all it takes and then Virgil’s hands are coming up to grip his waist tightly – for leverage, Jordan supposes, and he curls his fingers around the edge of the bathroom counter to keep himself upright. 

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His movements are small at first; he circles his hips shallowly, teasing but not quite enough, so Jordan covers one of Virgil’s hands with his own and pulls his arm up to curl around chest, pulling his body in tight at the same time. 

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“This isn’t going to be the last time you touch me,” Jordan whispers, watching how careful Virgil is being. His hands are hovering over Jordan’s skin like he’s afraid to touch and his hips are barely moving at this point, and it isn’t _him_. It’s not him and it never has been, not even when they barely knew each other, having another level sex in Virgil’s hotel room and being in very, very different mindsets afterwards. “You don’t have to savour the moment, Virg. This won’t be the last time.” 

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“I’m sorry,” Virgil says, nose brushing against Jordan’s temple. He closes his eyes and swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing gracefully in his reflection. He looks it, too – genuinely sorry, like he’s done something wrong.

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“There’s nothing to apologise for,” Jordan says, sliding his fingers up the length of Virgil’s arm. He shifts, leans forward slightly, and Virgil slides even deeper, somehow. The younger man’s eyes snap open and his jaw drops, and Jordan smirks, pushing back against the hard lines of Virgil’s hips. “I want this. You want this. There’s no room for anything else, okay? I miss having you like this.”

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Virgil doesn’t say anything for a long, long time, but his grip on Jordan’s hips tighten so much that Jordan knows he’s going to have bruises in the shape of fingerprints on his skin for weeks. It’s what he wanted though, and the pressure makes him dizzy with relief. “I love you,” Virgil whispers eventually, and then he pulls his hips back and slams back in.

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His thrusts are so forceful that Jordan can’t hold onto the edge of the counter anymore, and he brings one hand up to cover Virgil’s, the other sliding across the granite surface. Virgil’s free hand leaves his hip and comes up to tangle in his hair, pulling his head back until their gazes meet in the mirror.

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“Look at you,” Virgil whispers, something close to awed. He tips his head to nose along the line of Jordan’s jaw, tongue flicking out over his fluttering pulse so fast that he’s not sure it actually happened. He looks; takes in the gorgeous sight of Virgil’s mouth next to his skin, his own red, flushed chest, Virgil’s hand snaking down his stomach so that his fingers can curl around his dick. He looks, and then tilts his head so he can press an overwhelmed kiss to Virgil’s lips. “You’re so gorgeous, Jord.”  
And then he moves, changing the angle so his dick is pressing straight against Jordan’s prostate. It’s so much, feeling the head of it drag when he pulls back until he’s almost entirely out, and when he pushes back in a whine tears from Jordan’s lungs, high-pitched and needy, making Virgil smirk against his skin. 

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He moves his hand in time with his thrusts, _upanddownupanddown_ , and he doesn’t take his eyes off of Jordan, not even once. He’s always watching, drinking in every little detail like he’s never, ever seen anything like this before, but it doesn’t make Jordan feel shy. In fact, it’s quite the opposite – he feels safe, loved, like nothing in the world will hurt him ever again. He feels like he’s the only thing that could ever possibly matter. 

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“So good for me,” Virgil murmurs, sucking bruises into the pale skin of Jordan’s shoulders. The pace is unrelenting now, pushing him so hard against the counter that there’s a red crease across the top of his thighs, but he can barely feel it. His dick is throbbing and his entire body is on fire, stars glittering behind his eyelids when they flutter shut, bottom lip trapped between his teeth because he doesn’t know what else to do. “I love you, Jordan. I love you.”

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That’s all it takes for the tips of his fingers to start tingling, and he all but falls back against Virgil, who keeps him upright, who holds him up, who catches him, because he promised that he always, always would. His vision fades to black at the corners and he cries out something that sounds vaguely like Virgil’s name, finally coming, waves of it hitting him from the soles of his feet right through his body. 

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He doesn’t have the energy to move, or to open his eyes, but he can still hear Virgil’s short little grunts and feel his hands on Jordan’s skin. He can feel his hips snapping erratically before they still, and he can feel Virgil coming inside of him, too. Marking him, claiming him. Making him his forever. He doesn’t want anything less than that.

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“Fuck,” Virgil whispers. He sounds disbelieving, and he presses a kiss to the spot just below Jordan’s ear, nuzzling against his skin softly. He thumb swipes across the come at the head of the older man’s dick, making him flinch away from the oversensitivity, but then he moves his hand away. Jordan opens his eyes at the loss of contact and meets Virgil’s gaze in the mirror, watching him lift his fingers to his mouth and his tongue dart out to lick at his thumb.

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Jordan’s dick makes an effort to harden again and he lets out a pathetic, wounded noise, turning his head so that he can brush his nose against the hollow of Virgil’s throat. “You’re filthy,” he murmurs, like his heart isn’t beating ten to the dozen in his chest and he wouldn’t be ready for another round if Virgil just said the word. “Absolutely disgusting.”

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“You love it, though,” Virgil says, smirking as the tips of his fingers ghost over Jordan’s chest. He flatters his palm against the older man’s skin, right over his heart, like he’s trying to memorise the pattern of his pulse. His eyes are dark when they meet Jordan’s, dark and serious, mouth a thin line.

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“I do – I love you,” Jordan whispers, and watches the straight line of Virgil’s mouth break into a blinding grin. The younger man pulls out, and Jordan can’t help but let out a slutty moan as he clenches around nothing. Virgil moves, picks up a cloth like he’s about to clean Jordan up (something that he’s done many times before), but Jordan stops him with a hand on his arm and a soft smile. “Leave it. I want to feel you.” 

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Virgil cards his fingers through Jordan’s hair and presses a kiss to his temple, before using the grip he has on the back of Jordan’s neck to spin him round. They’re finally facing, for the first time since they came into the bathroom, and they stare at each other for one heavy beat before Jordan is throwing his arms around Virgil’s neck and kissing him properly. Virgil’s tongue brushes against his and his mouth is wet and hot and his hands are so gentle on the curve of his back and Jordan has missed him so, so much, and he’s overwhelmed, mind spinning, and he _loves_ him. That’s all there is to it. He loves him. 

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“Take me to bed,” he murmurs, and watches Virgil’s mouth curve up into a sweet, easy smile. He does as he’s told, although he pauses for a moment to kiss Jordan again, and then another one for good measure, and tucks him against his side to lead him back through to the bedroom. 

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Virgil takes care when he’s pulling the duvet back, smoothing the pillow out and then gently lowering him until he’s sitting on the mattress. And Jordan could walk, could do all of this by himself, but the feeling of Virgil’s hands on his skin is the only thing he’s ever really wanted. He decides that he’s allowed to give himself this, after so long of being starved of it. He needs that touch to keep him going.

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He settles, laying on his side and pulling the duvet up to his chin while Virgil rounds the bed and slips under the covers. It’s the same position they were in not even two hours ago, noses brushing and fingers tangled between them, but this time, it feels so much more significant. It feels so much more _complete_.

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“Every night you slept downstairs,” Jordan whispers. He’s surprising himself by talking about this, but he knows that Virgil needs to know absolutely everything, down to the barest details. He knows everything about Virgil now, after all. “I slept on your side of the bed. In the dips your body left in the mattress. On your pillow. It smelt like you, and it was the only way I could actually fall asleep. It was the only thing that made me feel safe.” 

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“Oh, love,” Virgil sighs. He brings his hand up to curl around Jordan’s cheek, touch always gentle and delicate, and he presses the lightest of kisses to his lips as he slides an arm under his shoulders. “You don’t need to worry about that anymore. I’ve got you. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

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“I know,” Jordan says, tucking his face into Virgil’s chest and kissing his skin. He curls his fingers around Virgil’s wrist and pulls his arm down until they’re holding hands again, and now they’re touching pretty much everywhere: legs tangled, chest to chest, Virgil’s lips against his forehead. He’s never felt more at ease than he does when Virgil is wrapped around him. “The things you make me feel could start fires.” 

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“D’you want a brew?” Jordan asks, twisting in Virgil’s arms to look at him. It’s a boring Friday night – they hadn’t been invited out anywhere and frankly, Jordan was knackered from work anyway, so they’d decided to stay in and have an early night. Coronation Street is on in the background, but Jordan isn’t really paying attention, too busy scrolling through Instagram. 

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“If you’re offering,” Virgil says, sending a beaming smile Jordan’s way. The older man goes to stand, but before he can, Virgil has a hand wrapped around his wrist pulling him back. He lands half in Virgil’s lap with a painful _oof_ , but Virgil’s hand slipping under his t-shirt and up the length of his spine is enough to soothe the ache. “Love you.” 

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“I love you too,” Jordan murmurs, tilting his forehead against Virgil’s. He presses their lips together in a gentle kiss, lets Virgil deepen it and nip at his bottom lip, but then he pulls away with a dramatic sigh. “But I love tea more. Let go of me, you buffoon.” 

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“Fine,” Virgil grumbles, releasing his grip on Jordan. He slaps the older man’s arse when he stands and Jordan can feel Virgil’s eyes on him the entire time he walks through to the kitchen. He’s used to it by now, though. He’s self aware enough to know that he and Virgil are probably the most sickening couple that ever existed. “Milk and –”

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“– two sugars, yeah, I know,” Jordan says. He rolls his eyes even though Virgil can’t see him, and busies himself getting two mugs out of the cupboard. He smirks, sorting through them until he sees the Twilight mug he bought Virgil as a joke last Christmas, and pulls that one out alongside a boring, plain white one for himself. “Your tea preference hasn’t changed in the two years since I’ve known you, Virg.” 

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He can hear Virgil mutter something back – an insult, probably – but he shakes his head and ignores him. It’s not quite been two years, but it’s coming up to it now, and Jordan has never, ever been happier. Ever since they sorted things, they haven’t even so much as argued. Things are –– basically perfect. Jordan spent a long time waiting for the other shoe to drop, but when four months had passed, and then another two, he’d realised that this was the new normal for them. 

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In fact, it’s not even _new_ at this point. They’ve been living in a blissful little bubble, and not even dinner with James, Robbo and their respective other halves could burst it. Milly had been making little comments the entire time and Robbo had egged him on, but Virgil had just smiled and put his hand on Jordan’s thigh. In return, Jordan kissed his cheek and ignored the gagging noises coming from across the table. 

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He can’t stop smiling to himself as he dumps two teabags into the mugs. He knows it’s ridiculous, knows that he really doesn’t have any right to be this happy considering his future is full of question marks, but he and Virgil had decided to cross that bridge when they get to it. He’s humming to himself as he opens the fridge, and rolls his eyes when he notices they’re out of milk. Virgil _always_ forgets to buy more.

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“Babe,” Jordan calls from the hallway, shoving his feet into the nearest discarded pair of trainers. He shrugs his jacket on as he walks back into the living room and stands in front of the TV, ignoring Virgil’s irritated sigh. “We’re out of milk. Again. Because you’re an animal.”

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“Oh,” Virgil says, and Jordan knows that if he could blush, he would. “Sorry. I was meant to get some on the way back from work, wasn’t I? I forgot.” 

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“It’s okay,” Jordan says, because how could he ever be mad at that face? He leans down to press a kiss to Virgil’s cheek, fingers wrapping around the back of his neck to steady himself, and scratches his nails over the sensitive skin there gently. “I’ll nip out now and get some, alright? But next time you forget, you’re sleeping on the couch.”

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“We both know that’ll never happen again,” Virgil says, pinching Jordan’s thigh gently. He presses a soft, chaste kiss to Jordan’s lips and then another to his cheek, squeezing his hip before he lets go for good. “Keep your phone on, yeah? Stay safe. I love you.”

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“I love you too,” Jordan says. He straightens up and gives the back of Virgil’s neck one last squeeze, zipping his coat up as he heads back into the living room. He unlocks the front door, calling out one last goodbye to Virgil before he steps out. “I’ll be fifteen minutes, tops!” 

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It’s freezing out, chucking it down with rain, and he pulls his sleeves down over his fingers as he heads down the driveway, pausing to pull his hood over his head. It’s dead, but that’s to be expected for a late Sunday evening. At least there won’t be any queues in the shop, he thinks, as he steps into the road. He just wants to get his milk and go home to cuddle his boyfriend.

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It all happens so fast;

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The squeal of tires against tarmac.

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A flash of headlights coming around the corner.

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The crack of bones as the car hits him.

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The smell of blood as it fills his mouth and trickles from his nose.

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The feel of rain hitting his face, even though he can’t move his arm to wipe it away.

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The sound of a familiar voice, calling his name, desperate and heartbroken.

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He knows. Straight away, he knows.

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He just hopes that Virgil can get to him in time.

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“Fuck,” Virgil says, gasps, whimpers. He finally finds the energy to open his eyes, somehow, now there’s something worth looking at. It hurts, weirdly, deep in his stomach, but Virgil’s skin is glowing and his touch is familiar and Jordan loves him so, so much. “Fuck, Jordan, can you hear me? Jord?” 

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He tries to speak, but his throat is dry and his tongue feels stiff and all he can do is spit out blood. It doesn’t matter though, because Virgil strokes his cheek, pushing wet strands of hair out of his eyes as he shushes him gently. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” he gasps. There are tears falling from his eyes, mixing with the rain before they can stick to his skin. “I’ve got you, alright? I’m here. Everything’s going to be fine, I promise.”

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Jordan blinks, tries to speak again, but he hears the sound of a car door slamming. It distracts him, but he doesn’t turn his head. He can’t. Virgil can though, and does, looking up at the person – driver, Jordan assumes through the fog in his mind, the driver – with a kind of hatred that Jordan has never, ever seen before.

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“You ––” Virgil hisses, spits. His fingers flex where they’re curled around the back of Jordan’s head like he wants to pull away, to curl them into a fist and then bury it right in the centre of the driver’s face, but he stays where he is. It’s the most self restraint he’s ever shown, Jordan thinks absently.

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“I didn’t mean to!” The driver says. He sounds panicked, distraught, and Jordan recognises the voice. It’s so familiar, like he’s spent a long time hearing it regularly, but he can’t _place_ it. It’s irritating him, like there’s a hole in his brain that he can’t fill. He knows the name would fill it, but his thoughts seem abstract. Unreal. He’s just not sure about anything, right now. “I swear, it was an accident, Virgil! I didn’t _see him_! I would never hurt him! Never!” 

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Adam.

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It’s Adam.

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“You just fucking did!” Virgil yells. It’s more of a scream, broken and haunted, but he looks back down at Jordan, murmuring apologies for the volume of his voice. He gently shifts Jordan’s body so he’s half on his lap, head and shoulders cradled in his arms, against his chest, comfortable. Finally comfortable. “Get out of here, Adam. Get out of here before I kill you – and I will kill you. One day. You’re not getting away with this.” 

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He turns his attention away from Adam for good, and Jordan distantly hears the car door slam shut again, and then the lights are fading away as quick as they came.

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“Jordan?” Virgil breathes, palm gentle against Jordan’s cheek. He’s staring down at him, frown on his face, but he looks terrified. It’s glinting in his eyes, visible on his raw, bitten lips, and Jordan feels awful for putting that look on his face. “Jordan, can you hear me? That’s it, babe, stay with me.” 

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“I’m sorry,” he manages to gasp out, after a couple of false starts. He reaches up, touches Virgil’s cheek with his shaking hand, and Virgil’s fingers close around his, keeping his hand there. He feels so cold, awfully, terribly cold, and he shivers, wondering if this is how Virgil feels all the time. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

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“It’s okay, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” Virgil says. His voice is calm and soothing, and he turns his head slightly so he can press a kiss to Jordan’s palm. Every movement is delicate like he’s trying not to break Jordan. “Just save your energy, okay? Where’s your phone? I haven’t got mine with me, I need to call an ambulance for you.” 

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“It’s too late,” Jordan says. He pauses to cough up more blood, and now each breath he takes is gasping and wet, rattling through his lungs. Virgil stops rummaging through his pockets and holds his head up so that he can spit on the floor, trying to get rid of that disgusting metallic taste. When he’s finished, he lays back in Virgil’s arms, dragging in deep, deep breaths and letting his hand slide down to Virgil’s neck. “It’s too late, Virg. I’m dying. An ambulance wouldn’t get here in time.” 

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“You’re not dying,” Virgil snaps, but Jordan knows that he’s not actually angry. He’s just scared. It’s okay, because Jordan understand. He’s not scared himself, because he’s at peace with it. He’s dying, and that’s okay. He just hopes that Virgil can carry on without him. “I can heal you, Jordan! Like I did with that woman! Remember that time you called me a miracle worker? I’ll fix it, okay? I can fix this!” 

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“It won’t _work_ , I’m too far gone,” Jordan says. It’s not that he doesn’t want Virgil to try – it’s just that he’d rather not waste the precious few minutes he’s got left. But Virgil has already managed to scratch his wrist open, right above a vein, and he holds it right above Jordan’s mouth. He’s so determined that it makes tears prick at the corner of Jordan’s eyes, sympathy making his heart hurt.

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“It’s not – why isn’t it _working_ , you’re supposed to be _better_ ,” Virgil says, pulling his arm away in defeat. He’s properly crying now, little sobs making him gasp on every other breath, and he tightens his fist in Jordan’s hair like he thinks it’ll keep him alive. “What do I _do_ , Jord? What do I do?” 

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“You carry on without me,” Jordan says calmly, wiping away Virgil’s tears with his thumb. He traces his lips with his fingers and then lets his hand fall until it’s resting on his chest, and smiles up at him. “You go to every single place you said you were going to show me, and you think of me, alright? But then you move on. You fall in love with someone else, and you be _happy_. As long as you’re happy, Virgil – I don’t mind if I die. As long as you’re happy.” 

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“I don’t want to live without you,” Virgil gasps. Sobs are wracking through his entire body, the force of them making his shoulders shake, and he pulls Jordan even tighter against his body like he can’t bear to let go. “Please, Jordan, don’t make me live without you! I can’t do it! I _won’t_!” 

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“You have to,” Jordan whispers. He tangles his fingers into the collar of Virgil’s sweatshirt and pulls him down for a kiss. It tastes like a mixture of salty tears and blood, but underneath all of that, Virgil. A taste he’s grown to love. When Virgil pulls back, Jordan frowns. “I’m sorry – I’ve got blood on your face.”

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“That doesn’t matter,” Virgil snaps, grabbing Jordan’s wrist when he raises his hand to wipe it away. His face is fading, Jordan thinks, details of it becoming blurry and getting lost to black spots, and he frowns even deeper, trying to focus his vision. “Fuck – Jord –”

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He comes to to Virgil shaking him awake, fingers so tight around his shoulders that it hurts.

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“Thank god,” Virgil breathes, hand sliding up to cup Jordan’s cheek. His thumb swipes through something wet at the corner of Jordan’s mouth – blood, he thinks, so much blood, soaking through his clothes and making it hard to breathe. “I thought I’d lost you, Jord, fuck.”

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“Listen to me. Listen to me, baby, okay?” Jordan says, ignoring all of Virgil’s monologuing. He’s got so much to say, so much that he needs Virgil to hear before this is all over. It’s important. He can’t die with any what ifs. “I love you, Virgil van Dijk. I love you more than anyone I’ve met in my entire life. You changed me. You changed me for the better, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that. You found me when I was at my lowest point, when I didn’t think I’d ever be able to get out of rock bottom. But you got me out of there. You made me realise what true love is, because you showed me. You loved me better than anyone ever has before. Thank you. Thank you so, so much. I’m sorry I wasted so much time, before – but I don’t regret a single second I’ve spent with you. I love you.” 

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“I love you, too,” Virgil says, but it’s – distant, almost, like Jordan is underwater, and Virgil is shouting to him from the surface. He can hear his name being called, sort of, but not really, and the voice keeps growing more desperate, panicked, until it’s begging. It becomes raw. Broken.

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This is the way the world ends: not with a bang, but with a whimper.

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With an _I'm sorry_.

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With an _I love you_.

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With an _I've never regretted a single moment I spent with you_.

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Hoping that that's enough to keep Virgil going. Hoping that he won't blame himself, that he'll realise that sometimes, things just aren't meant to be. This is one of those things, and it's easier to accept it.

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They met. They loved. They fought, and they loved some more.

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The world has changed significantly because their fate was fulfilled, their destinies crossed. 

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That has to mean something.

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This is the way the world ends. Not with a crash, but with a wheeze. With Jordan's blood smeared on Virgil's cheek. With the bitterness of salty tears on his tongue, the last thing he'll ever taste. 

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He wishes Virgil would stop crying, because he'd much rather die with the familiar taste of Virgil's kiss in his mouth.

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The world is ending, and it's ending now, and there's nothing anyone can do about it.

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Strangely, Jordan doesn't feel sad. He doesn't feel happy, or peaceful, or even regret. He doesn't feel a thing - except guilt for being another person that has left Virgil. Another name on a long list that he has loved and lost.

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He tries to apologise, but this is the way the world ends.

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With a gasp of breath, a sharp sting of pain cutting through the haze. 

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The world ends with a fade to black.

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And then.

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**Nothing**.

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Jordan wakes with a gasp. 

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He doesn’t remember what he was dreaming about, but he can still see flashes of light behind his eyelids. He can still feel the pain, real but also not at the same time. He can still hear muffled sounds, broken and raw. He doesn’t remember what he was dreaming about, but it’s still so _vivid_.

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His breath is coming out in short, quick gasps, but he can’t feel his heart pounding like he should be able to. In fact, he can hear everything but that – the birds singing outside seem sharper, and he can hear the bed sheets rustling when he flattens his palms against them. He hears his own bones creaking when he tries to sit up, and groans when he can barely lift his body.

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“Don’t move,” Virgil says softly. Jordan’s head snaps round to the corner of their bedroom, where Virgil is sitting in an armchair. He hadn’t even realised he was there. “It’ll make it worse. You’re too weak.” 

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He doesn’t look good, and that in itself is an understatement. His skin is pale and ashy, bottom lip rolled into his mouth, and his eyes are wide, desperately sad. He looks haunted, hunched over like he’s trying to protect an open wound, and he won’t meet Jordan’s eyes. He’s just staring at the floor, picking at the skin around his nails. Broken. Pained.

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“You turned me, didn’t you.” Jordan says, breathes, barely a ghost of the words. It’s not a question because he already knows the answer, but he couldn’t care less about the effect it’s had on him. He cares more about Virgil, sitting there, stewing, how long has it been? How long has he been beating himself up about this? It makes Jordan’s chest hurt, and all he wants is to go to him, but when he tries to move, his body feels like it’s made of lead.

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“I’m sorry,” Virgil says suddenly, after several long, long minutes of silence. His voice sounds hoarse, raw, like he’s been shouting, or- or crying. He hangs his head so far his chin touches his chest, and curls his fingers into fists, digging his nails into his palm so hard that it must hurt. Jordan can see the grooves in his skin from here. “I know I was selfish, but I didn’t know what else to _do_ , Jordan. You _died_. You died in my arms, and I couldn’t – I’m sorry. I’ve taken your life away from you.” 

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“What?” Jordan asks, because he doesn’t get it. If anything, Virgil has _given_ him life; given him time and memories and so many places and people and things he would never see if he’d have died. He’s given them an eternity together. How could Jordan ever not want that? “You haven’t been –”

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“I know you hate me,” Virgil says, cutting Jordan off. The pace is his breathing is faster now, hitching gasps as he tries to choke back his tears, but he’s not hiding it very well. Jordan’s fingers ache with the need to touch, to hold, to comfort. “And I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to leave me. I won’t hold you back, Jordan. I’m not like him, I won’t – I won’t force you to stay.” 

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“What if I want to stay?” Jordan argues back, but it’s weak because he’s using all of his energy to drag himself upright. Virgil’s hands move up to cover his face, fingers twisting into his hair. “I don’t want to leave you, Virgil. I’m not going anywhere, and you’re not _forcing_ me to do anything.” 

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“You will,” Virgil says. He sounds sure of it, like he’s little misguided view of their near future is exactly what is going to happen, but Jordan knows otherwise. Jordan feels the same way he did about Virgil when he was human – if not even stronger now. “You might not realise it now, but you will. Because I’ve done to you exactly what Pellegrino did to me, and you can’t change this, Jordan, you can’t just- turn back. I’ve forced you into this. So you’ll hate me, eventually, and then you’ll leave. And I don’t even blame you, because it’s what I deserve.” 

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“Listen to me!” Jordan snaps, so loud, so angry, that it steals the breath from his lungs. It’s then that he realises how weak he actually is, and all he wants is Virgil by his side, holding him until he feels alright. Why won’t Virgil just let him have that? “I get it, okay? I know why you did it – why you turned me. You were scared, baby. You were scared and I was dying, and this was the only way you could save me. I don’t hate you for doing it, Virgil. I don’t hate you one bit. I still love you. I always will.” 

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He takes a moment to catch his breath while Virgil slowly raises his head and finally looks at him. There are tears glinting in his eyes, making his eyelashes wet, and he searches for any sign of doubt in Jordan’s face. “How?” He asks, voice sounding awfully small. Jordan decides that nobody should ever make him feel that small ever, ever again. “How can you not hate me? How can you love me?” 

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“Because you’re my best friend,” Jordan whispers. He levels his gaze with Virgil’s and places his hand, palm up, on the free side of the mattress – an invitation, a plea. Virgil glances down at it, but stays frozen to the spot. “You haven’t taken anything away from me, I promise you that. You’ve given me – well, eternity. You’ve given me an eternity with you, and that means more than anything. I love you, Virgil. If I get to spend forever with you, then I’m more than okay with that. Now will you just –– come here, please? I want you to come here.” 

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Virgil doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch, and honestly, Jordan is just _sick_ of this now. He grits his teeth and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, bracing himself on the mattress, and then pushes himself to stand. If Virgil isn’t going to go to him, he’ll go to Virgil. 

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Except he doesn’t get that far. His feet touch the floor and then the earth drops from under him. It’s slow motion, the way he falls, and he expects to hit it with a painful thud, but he never quite makes it there. Instead, Virgil is by his side in a flash, arms around his waist as he drags him up and against his chest. 

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“I told you, you’re too weak,” Virgil says. He sounds irritated, but then his hand is gentle when it travels up to card through Jordan’s hair. He slides the fingers of his other hand along Jordan’s bicep, down to curl around his elbow, and then he’s lifting his arm to hook it around his own neck. He lifts Jordan to sit on the edge of the bed and tries to pull away, but Jordan just tightens his hold on him. “What can I do to help?” 

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“Stay,” Jordan whispers. He looks up at Virgil, cheek still resting against his chest, with wide eyes. He feels like he’s seeing him so differently now, in so much more detail. He loves him even deeper, in a way that he didn’t think was possible. “Stay and hold me.” 

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Virgil seems defeated, briefly closing his eyes and then pressing a kiss to Jordan’s forehead. When he opens them again, he looks a little more at ease. Still haunted, but lighter somehow. “I’ll always stay when you ask me to,” Virgil murmurs, pressing another kiss to Jordan’s forehead. “Anything else? I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.” 

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“Cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss,” Jordan says, brushing his nose against the base of Virgil’s throat. He kisses the same spot of skin and lets Virgil manoeuvre him until he’s laying down again, pulling the duvet up and tucking it around his shoulders so delicately it makes tears sting at the back of his eyes. 

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“I won’t be long,” Virgil whispers, curving his palm around Jordan’s cheek and stroking his thumb along his eyebrow. He looks at the older man for a second, hesitates like he wants to say something, but then he just smiles and leaves the room. Jordan doesn’t do much while he’s gone. There’s not much he can do, given how his bones are aching and his limbs feel like they weigh a tonne, but he wouldn’t want to do anything except wait for him to get back anyway.

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He comes back through the door gracefully, in a way that Jordan could never, ever manage. He’s balancing two mugs as he closes the door behind him with his foot, and Jordan drags himself until he’s sitting up, back resting against the headboard as Virgil sets both of the mugs on the bedside table. He slips under the duvet and lets Jordan burrow under his arm, head resting on his chest and fingers sliding under his t-shirt to rest on his bare stomach.

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“Here,” Virgil murmurs, picking up a mug and placing it carefully in Jordan’s hands. He looks down at the dark porcelain and smiles, pressing a kiss to Virgil’s clothed chest. Virgil doesn’t react, just picks up his own mug and takes a long sip.

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“Nice to see you’ve still got your sense of humour,” Jordan says absently, thumb brushing over the golden L in the word Twilight. Virgil grins, and he’s obviously trying to hide it behind his mug, but Jordan can see it when he looks up at him. He rests his chin on Virgil’s chest and watches him, takes in every new detail, every tiny freckle and misplaced hair he can see now his vision is sharper. 

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“I’m sorry I freaked out on you,” Virgil says suddenly, putting his mug on the table and plucking Jordan’s out of his hands, too. His other hand comes up to curve around Jordan’s hug, cradling it gently as he looks down at him with serious yet soft eyes. “It’s just – I remember the day I was turned like it was yesterday. I remember that hatred. It burned in my stomach like acid, and – the thought of you feeling like that about me… It was sickening, Jord. But I needed you to know that there was no pressure. That if you want to, you can leave. You still can, if- if you change your mind. But I love you. And if you still want me, then I’m not going anywhere.” 

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“I think,” Jordan says slowly, then pauses, reaching up to brush his thumb along the fullness of Virgil’s bottom lip. “I think you’re going to be very, very disappointed. Because I’m never going to change my mind, Virgil. I’m yours, and you’re mine. For the rest of time.” 

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Virgil smiles, eyes shimmering with tears, but the line of his shoulders is a lot looser than it was five minutes ago. He kisses Jordan, and the angle is a little uncomfortable, but it’s alright. Every kiss they share is perfect – and now they’ve got plenty of kisses to try and make it better. “For the rest of time,” Virgil repeats softly, and Jordan feels the planets align. He knows they’ll stay that way.

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**Forever.**

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**Author's Note:**

> things to note: 
> 
> \- i'm so sorry to all adam lallana stans. i'm sure he's lovely, but i needed a villain, and he was right there.  
> \- virgil was born in 1913.  
> \- everybody has a soulmate, but the feelings aren't strong enough for humans to noticeably find them. when you're turned into a vampire, you're more in tune with those feelings.  
> \- virgil always visited liverpool because something deep in his gut told him to, but he didn't know what. when the job came up, he jumped at the chance, because he wanted to figure out why his connection with the city was so strong.  
> \- the connection, of course, is jordan.  
> \- joel is indeed joel matip.  
> \- when virgil left southampton, pellegrino gave plenty of [interviews where he referred to virgil as the boy](https://www.telegraph.co.uk/football/2017/07/21/mauricio-pellegrinovirgil-van-dijk-wants-leave-southampton-not/). it made me feel icky, and was also the perfect inspo for a creepy character.  
> \- this isn't anything to do with the fic but i also found out while doing my research that pellegrino played for lfc for a while? that was strange.  
> \- vampires can see their reflection in mirrors, because i said so. you'll never take my artistic license away from me.
> 
> so, i think that's all, folks. thank you so much for sticking with this fic.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @ [georginiwijnaldum](https://georginiwijnaldum.tumblr.com/) xo


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